In  July,  will  be  Published,  in  Five  Volumes,  Pi  ice  $5. 

THE  NOCTES  AMBROSIAN^l; 

WITH  PORTRAITS  OF  WILSON,  LOCKHART,  MAGINN,  HOGG,  AND  FAC-SIMILES. 
EDITED,  WITH  MEMOIRS,  NOTES,  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS, 

BY  DR.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE, 

r  TH*  IKISH  BAR." 


The  Noctes  were  commenced  in  182-2,  and  closed  in  1835.  Even  in  England,  the  lapse 
of  years  has  obscured  many  circumstances  which  were  well  known  thirty  years  ago. 

DR.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE,  already  favorably  known  as  editor  of  Shell's  "  Sketches  of 
the  Irish  Bar,"  has  undertaken  the  editorship  of  THE  NOCTES  AMBROSIAXJS,  for  which  a 
familiar  acquaintance,  during  the  last  twenty-five  years,  with  the  persons,  events,  and 
places  therein  noticed  may  be  assumed  to  qualify  him.  He  has  been  on  terms  of  intimacy 
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and  his  annotation  of  the  text  will  include  personal  recollections  of  them. 

Besides  this,  Dr.  Mackenzie  has  written  for  this  edition  a  "  History  of  the  Rise  and  Pro- 
gress of  Blackwood's  Magazine,"  with  original  memoirs  of  the  principal  accredited  authors 
of  the  i4  NOCTES,"  via :— Professor  Wilson,  The  Ettrick  Shepherd,  J.  G.  Lockhart,  and 
Dr.  Maginn. 

He  will  also  give  the  celebrated  "  Chaldee  Manuscript,"  published  in  1817,  instantly 
suppressed,  and  so  scarce  that  the  only  copy  which  the  editor  has  ever  seen  is  that  from 
which  he  makes  the  present  reprint.  There  will  also  be  given  the  three  articles,  entitled 
"  CHRISTOPHER  IX  THE  TENT,'r  (in  August  and  September,  1819),  never  before  printed,  in 
any  shape,  in  thiscountry.  The  interlocutors  in  "  THE  TENT,"  include  the  greater  number 
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The  "Metricum  Symphosium  Ambrosianum," — an  addendum  to  No.  III.  of  "THE 
NOCTES,"  (and  which  notices  every  living  author  of  note,  in  the  year  1822),  will  be  in- 
corporated in  this  edition.  This  has  never  before  been  reprinted  here. 


Nearly  Ready,  in  Two  Volumes. 

THE  ODOHERTY  PAPERS, 

FORMING  THE  FIRST  PORTION  OF  THE  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  OF  THE  LATE 

DR.    MAGINN. 

WITH  AN  ORIGINAL  MEMOIR  AND  COPIOUS  NOTES,  BT 

DR.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE. 


FOR  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  the  most  remarkable  magazine  writer  of  his 
time,  was  the  late  William  Maginn,  LL.D.,  well-known  as  the  Sir  Morgan  Odoherty  of 
Blackwooil'  'a  Magazine,  and  as  the  principal  contributor,  for  many  years,  to  Fraser's 
and  other  periodicals.  The  combined  learning,  wit,  eloquence,  eccentricity,  and  humor 
of  Maginn,  had  obtained  for  him,  long  before  his  death,  (in  1843),  the  title  of  THB 
MODERN  RABELAIS.  His  magazine  articles  possess  extraordinary  merit.  He  had  the 
art  of  putting  a  vast  quantity  of  animal  spirits  upon  paper,  but  his  graver  articles  —  which 
contain  sound  and  serious  principles  of  criticism  —  are  earnest  and  well-reasoned. 

The  collection  now  in  hand  will  contain  his  Facetioe  (in  a  variety  of  languages),  Trans- 
lations, Travesties,  and  Original  Poetry,  also  his  prose  Tales,  .which  are  eminently  beauti- 
ful ,  the  best  of  his  critical  articles,  (including  his  celebrated  Shakspeare  Papers),  and 
his  Homeric  Ballads.  The  periodicals  in  which  he  wrote  have  been  ransacked,  from 
"  Black-wood"  to  "  Punch."  and  the  result  will  be  a  series  of  great  interest. 

DR.  SHELTON  MACKEKZIE,  who  has  undertaken  the  editorship  of  these  writings  of  his 
distinguished  countryman,  will  spare  neither  labor  nor  attention  in  the  work.  The 
first  volume  will  contain  an  original  Memoir  of  Dr.  Maginn,  written  by  Dr.  Mackenzie, 
and  a  characteristic  Portrait,  with  fac-simile. 

.  S.  REDFIELD, 


•110  &  112  Nassau-xtreei,  New   York. 


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A  STRAY  YANKEE  IN  TEXAS. 

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"  The  work  is  a  chef  d'auvre  in  a  style  of  literature  in  which  our  country  has  nc 
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"  We  find,  on  a  perusal  of  it,  that  Mr.  Paxton  has  not  only  produced  a  readable,  bul 
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NICK  OF  THE  WOODS. 

Nick  of  the  Woods,  or  the  Jibbenainosay  ;  a  Tale  of  Kentucky.  By 
ROBERT  M.  BIRD,  M.  D.,  Author  of  "Calavar,"  "The  Infidel," 
&c.  New  and  Revised  Edition,  with  Illustration^  by  Darley.  1 
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"  One  of  those  singular  tales  which  impress  themselves  in  Ineradicable  characters 
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in  the  dress  of  fiction  ;  and  nothing  is  related  but  which  has  its  prototype  in  actual 
reality." — Albany  Argus. 

•'  It  is  a  tal»  of  frontier  life  and  Indian  warfare,  written  by  a  masterly  pen,  with  it* 
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striking  and  thrilling." — Buffalo  Express. 


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•'  Mr.  Pulezky  and  his  accomplished  wife  have  produced  an  eminently  candid  and 
judicious  book,  which  will  be  read  with  pleasure  and  profit  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlan- 
tic."— Nim  fork  Daily  Times. 

"  The  authors  have  here  furnished  a  narrative  of  decided  interest  and  value.  They 
have  given  us  a  view  of  the  Hungarian  war,  a  description  of  the  Hungarian  passage  tc 
this  country,  and  a  sketch  of  Hungarian  travels  over  the  country." — Philad.  Christian 
Chronicle. 

"  Of  all  the  recent  books  on  America  by  foreign  travellers,  this  is  at  once  the  mosl 
fair  and  the  most  correct."—  Philad.  Saturday  Gazette. 

"  Unlike  most  foreign  tourists  in  the  United  States,  they  speak  of  our  institutions, 
manners,  customs,  &c.,  with  marked  candor,  and  at  the  same  time  evince  a  pretty  thor 
ough  knowledge  of  our  history." — Hartford  Chtistian  Secretary. 

"  This  is  a  valuable  book,  when  we  consider  the  amount  and  variety  of  the  informa 
Won  it  contains,  and  when  we  estimate  the  accuracy  with  which  the  facts  arc  detailed. 
-Worcester  Spy 


THE 


YOUTH    OF    JEFFERSON 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  COLLEGE  SCEAPES 


AT  WILLIAMSBURG,  IN  VIRGINIA,  A.D.  1764 


"  Dnlce  est  desipere  in  loco.': 


KEDFIELD 

110   AND    112    NASSAU    STREET,    NEW-YORK 
1854 


Vis 


/)    y/'fc 
KjLCtL** 


• 
• 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
J.  S.  REDFIELD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New- York. 


TCBBS,  NBSMITH  &  TBALL, 

Stereotypers,  29  Beekman  at. 


TO  THE   EEADEE. 


THIS  little  tale  is  scarcely  worth  a  preface,  and 
it  is  only  necessary  to  say,  that  it  was  written  as  a 
relaxation  after  exhausting  toil.  If  its  grotesque 
incidents  beguile  an  otherwise  weary  hour  with 
innocent  laughter,  the  writer's  ambition  will  have 
been  fully  gratified. 


THE  YOUTH  OF  JEFFERSON. 


CHAPTER    I. 

HOW   THREE    PEKSOJSTS    IN    THIS    HISTOKY   CAME   BY    THEIR 
NAMES. 

OK  a  fine  May  morning  in  the  year  1Y64, — that  is  to 
say,  between  the  peace  at  Fontainebleau  and  the 
stamp  act  agitation,  which  great  events  have  fortunately 
no  connection  with  the  present  narrative, — a  young  man 
mounted  on  an  elegant  horse,  and  covered  from  head  to 
foot  with  lace,  velvet,  and  embroidery,  stopped  before  a 
small  house  in  the  town  or  city  of  Williamsburg,  the 
capital  of  Virginia. 

Negligently  delivering  his  bridle  into  the  hands  of  a 
diminutive  negro,  the  young  man  entered  the  open  door, 
ascended  a  flight  of  stairs  which  led  to  two  or  three 
small  rooms  above,  and  turning  the  knob,  attempted  to 
enter  the  room  opening  upon  the  street. 

The  door  opened  a  few  inches,  and  then  was  sud- 
denly closed  by  a  heavy  body  thrown  against  it. 

"Back!"  cried  a  careless  and  jovial  voice,  "back! 
base  proctor— this  is  my  castle." 

"  Open !  open !"  cried  the  visitor. 

"  Never !"  replied  the  voice. 


6  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  J    OK, 

The  visitor  kicked  the  door,  to  the  great  damage  of  his 
Spanish  shoes. 

"  Beware  !"  cried  the  hidden  voice ;  "  I  am  armed 
to  the  teeth,  and  rather  than  be  captured  I  will  die  in 
defence  of  my  rights — namely,  liberty,  property,  and 
the  pursuit  of  happiness  under  difficulties." 

"  Tom !  you  are  mad." 

"  What?  that  voice?  not  the  proctor's !" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  visitor,  kicking  again ;  "  Jacque- 
ImV 

"Ah,  ah!" 

And  with  these  ejaculations  the  inmate  of  the  cham- 
ber was  heard  drawing  back  a  table,  then  the  butt  of 
a  gun  sounded  upon  the  floor,  and  the  door  opened. 

The  young  man  who  had  asserted  his  inalienable  natu- 
ral rights  with  so  much  fervor  was  scarcely  twenty — at 
least  he  had  not  reached  his  majority.  He  was  richly 
clad,  with  the  exception  of  an  old  faded  dressing  gown, 
which  fell  gracefully  like  a  Roman  toga  around  his  legs ; 
and  his  face  was  full  of  intelligence  and  careless,  some- 
what cynical  humor.  The  features  were  hard  and  point- 
ed, the  mouth  large,  the  hair  sandy  with  a  tinge  of  red. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  forlorn  lover !"  he  cried,  grasping  his 
visitor's  hand,  "  I  thought  you  were  that  rascally  proc- 
tor, and  was  really  preparing  for  a  hand-to-hand  conflict, 
to  the  death." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  sir !  could  I  expect  anything  else,  from  the  way 
you  turned  my  knob  ?  You  puzzled  me." 

"  So  I  see,"  said  his  visitor ;  "  you  had  your  gun,  and 
were  evidently  afraid." 

"Afraid?    Never!" 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  7 

"  Afraid  of  your  shadow !" 

"At  least  I  never  would  have  betrayed  fear  had  I  seen 
you !"  retorted  the  occupant  of  the  chamber.  "  You  are 
so  much  in  love  that  a  fly  need  not  be  afraid  of  you. 
Poor  Jacquelin!  poor  melancholy  Jacques!  a  feather 
would  knock  you  down." 

The  melancholy  Jacques  sat  down  sighing. 

"The  fact  is,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "I  am  the 
victim  of  misfortune :  but  who  complains  ?  I  don't,  espe- 
cially to  you,  you  great  lubber,  shut  up  here  in  your 
den,  and  with  no  hope  or  fear  on  earth,  beyond  pardon 
of  your  sins  of  commission  at  the  college,  and  dread 
of  the  proctor's  grasp !  You  are  living  a  dead  life,  while 
I — ah !  don't  speak  of  it.  What  were  you  reading  ?" 

"That  deplorable  Latin  song.  Salve  your  ill-humor 
with  it!" 

And  he  handed  his  visitor,  by  this  time  stretched 
carelessly  upon  a  lounge,  the  open  volume.  He  read : 

"(Mentis  partibus 
Adventavit  asinus, 
Pulcher  et  fortissimus, 
Sarcinis  aptissimus. 

"  Hez,  sire  asne,  car  chantez 
Belle  bouche  rechignez, 
Vous  aurez  du  foin  assez, 
Et  de  1'avoine  a  plantez." 

"  Good,"  said  the  visitor  satirically ;  "  that  suits  you 
— except  it  should  be  'occidentis  partibus:'  our  Sir 
Asinus  comes  from  the  west.  And  by  my  faith,  I  think 
I  will  in  future  dub  you  Sir  Asinus,  in  revenge  for  call- 
ing me — me,  the  most  cheerful  of  light-hearted  mortals 
— the  'melancholy  Jacques.'  " 


THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;   OR, 

"  Come,  come  I"  said  the  gentleman  threatened  with 
this  sobriquet,  "that's  too  bad,  Jacques." 

"Jacques  !  You  persist  in  calling  me  Jacques,  just  as 
you  persist  in  calling  Belinda,  Cam/pana,  in  die — Sell  in 
day.  What  a  deplorable  witticism !  I  could  find  a 
better  in  a  moment.  Stay,"  he  added,  "  I  have  discov- 
ered it  already." 

"  What  is  it,  pray,  most  sapient  Jacques  ?" 
"  Listen,  most  long-eared  Sir  Asinus." 
And  the  young  man  read  once  again : 
"  Hez,  sire  asne,  car  chantez, 
BELLE  BOUCHE  rechignez ; 
Vous  aurez  du  foin  assez,  - 
Et  de  1'avoine  a  plantez." 

"  Well,"  said  his  friend,  "  now  that  you  have  mangled 
that  French  with  your  wretched  pronunciation,  please 
explain  how  my  lovely  Belinda — come,  don't  sigh  and 
scowl  because  I  say  '  my,'  for  you  know  it's  all  settled 
— tell  me  where  in  these  lines  you  find  her  name." 

"  In  the  second,"  sighed  Jacques. 

« Oh  yes!— bah!" 

"There  you  are  sneering.  You  make  a  miserable 
Latin  pun,  by  which  you  translate  Belinda  into  Cam- 
pana  in  die — Bell  in  day — and  when  I  improve  your 
idea,  making  it  really  good,  you  sneer." 

"Keally,  now  !— well,  I  don't  say!" 

"  Belle-bouche !  Could  any  thing  be  finer  ?  *  Pretty- 
mouth  !'  And  then  the  play  upon  JBel,  in  Belinda,  by 
the  word  Belle.  Positively,  I  will  in  future  call  her 
nothing  else.  Belle-bouche — pretty-mouth  !  Ah  ! 

And  the  unfortunate  lover  stretched  languidly  upon 
the  lounge,  studied  the  ceiling,  and  sighed  piteously. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  9 

His  friend  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Jacques — for 
let  us  adopt  the  sobriquets  all  round — turned  negligently 
and  said : 

"  Pray  what  are  you  braying  at,  Sir  Asinus  ?" 

"  At  your  sighs." 

"Did  I  sigh?" 

"  Yes,  portentously !" 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken." 

"No!" 

"  I  never  sigh." 

And  the  melancholy  Jacques  uttered  a  sigh  which 
was  enough  to  shatter  all  his  bulk. 

The  consequence  was  that  Sir  Asinus  burst  into  a 
second  roar  of  laughter  louder  than  before,  and  said : 

"  Come,  my  dear  Jacques,  unbosom !  You  have  been 
to  see " 

"  Belle-bouche — Belle-bouche :  but  I  am  not  in  love 
with  her." 

"  Oh  no — of  course  not,"  said  his  friend,  laughing 
ironically. 

Jacques  sighed. 

"  She  don't  like  me,"  he  said  forlornly. 

"She's  very  fond  of  me  though,"  said  his  friend. 
"  Only  yesterday — but  I  am  mad  to  be  talking  about 
it." 

With  which  words  Sir  Asinus  turned  away  his  head  to 
hide  his  mischievous  and  triumphant  smile. 

Poor  Jacqiies  looked  more  forlorn  than  ever ;  which 
circumstance  seemed  to  aiford  his  friend  extreme  delight. 

"  Why  not  pay  your  addresses  to  Philippa,  Jacques  my 
boy  ?"  he  said  satirically ;    "  there's  no  chance  for  yoi3 
with  Belle-bouche,  as  you  call  her." 
1* 


10  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OK, 

"Philippa?  No,  no!"  sighed  Jacques;  "she's  too 
brilliant." 

"For  you?" 

"  Even  for  me — me,  the  prince  of  wits,  and  coryphaeus 
of  coxcombs :  yes,  yes !" 

And  the  melancholy  Jacques  sighed  again,  and  looked 
around  him  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  last  hope  on 
earth  has  left  him. 

His  friend  chokes  down  a  laugh ;  and  stretching  him- 
self in  the  bright  spring  sunshine  pouring  through  the 
window,  says  with  a  smile  : 

"  Come,  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  old  fellow.  You 
were  there  to-day  ?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  Have  a  pleasant  time  ?" 

"  Can't  say  I  did." 

"  Were  there  any  visitors  ?" 

"A  dozen — you  understand  the  description  of  visit- 
ors." 

"No;  what  sort?" 

"Fops  in  embryo,  and  aspirants  after  wit-laurels." 

"  It  is  well  you  went — they  must  have  been  thrown 
in  the  shade.  For  you,  my  dear  Jacques,  are  undeniably 
the  most  perfect  fop,  and  the  greatest  wit — in  your  own 
opinion — of  this  pleasant  village  of  Devilsburg." 

"No,  no,"  replied  his  companion  with  well-affected 
modesty ;  "la  fop  !  I  a  pretender  to  wit  ?  No,  no,  my 
dear  Sir  Asinus,  you  do  me  injustice :  I  am  the  simplest 
of  mortals,  and  a  very  child  of  innocence.  But  I  was 
speaking  of  Shadynook  and  the  fairies  of  that  domain. 
Never  have  I  seen  Belinda,  or  rather  Belle-bouche,  so 
lovely,  and  I  here  disdainfully  repel  your  ridiculous 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  11 

calumny  that  she's  in  love  with  you,  you  great  lump  of 
presumption  and  overweening  self-conceit!  Pliilippa 
too  was  a  pastoral  queen — in  silk  and  jewels — ^and  around 
them  they  had  gathered  together  a  troop  of  shepherds 
from  the  adjoining  grammar-school,  called  William  and 
Mary  College,  of  which  I  am  an  aspiring  bachelor,  and 
you  were  an  ornament  before  your  religious  opinions 
caught  from  Fauquier  drove  you  away  like  a  truant 
school-boy.  The  shepherds  were  as  usual  very  ridiculous, 
and  I  had  no  opportunity  to  whisper  so  much  as  a  single 
word  into  my  dear  Belle-bouche's  ear.  Ah !  how  lovely 
she  looked !  By  heaven,  I'll  go  to-morrow  and  request 
her  to  designate  some  form  of  death  for  me  to  die — all 
for  her  sake !" 

With  which  words  the  forlorn  Jacques  gazed  languidly 
through  the  window. 

At  the  same  moment  a  bell  was  heard  ringing  in  the 
direction  of  the  College  ;  and  yawning  first  luxuriously, 
the  young  man  rose. 

"  Lecture,  by  Jove  !"  he  said. 

"  And  you,  unfortunate  victim,  must  attend,"  said 
his  companion. 

"  Yes.     You  remain  here  ?" 

"To  the  end." 

"Still  resisting?" 

"  To  the  death !" 

"  Very  well,"  said  Jacques,  putting  on  his  cocked  hat, 
which  was  ornamented  with  a  magnificent  feather.  "  I 
half  envy  you ;  but  duty  calls — I  must  go." 

"  If  you  see  Ned  Carter,  or  Tom  Kandolph  of  Tucka- 
hoe,  tell  them  to  come  round." 

"  To  comfort  you  ?     Poor  unfortunate  prisoner !" 


12  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFEKSOX. 

"  No,  most  sapient  Jacques :  fortunately  I  do  not  need 
comfort  as  you  do." 

"/want  comfort?" 

"  Yes ;  there  you  are  sighing :  that  '  heigho  !'  was 
dreadful." 

"Scoffer!" 

"  No ;  I  am  your  rival." 

"  Yery  well ;  I  warn  you  that  I  intend  to  push  the 
siege  ;  take  care  of  your  interests." 

"  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Belle-bouche  again  to-morrow. 

"  Faith,  I'll  be  there,  then." 

"  Good ;  war  is  opened  then — the  glove  thrown  ?" 

"  War  to  the  death  !     Good-by,  publican  !" 

"  Farewell,  sinner !" 

And  with  these  words  the  melancholy  Jacques  de- 
parted. 


CHAPTEK   II. 

JACQUES    SHOWS   THE  ADVANTAGE   OF  BEING   LED   CAPTIVE 
BY   A   CROOK. 

IT  was  a  delicious  day,  such  a  day  as  the  month  of  flow- 
ers alone  can  bring  into  the  world,  and  all  nature 
seemed  to  be  rejoicing.  The  peach  and  cherry  blos- 
soms shone  like  snow  upon  the  budding  trees,  the  oriole 
shot  from  elm  to  elm,  a  ball  of  fire  against  a  background 
of  blue  and  emerald,  and  from  every  side  came  the  mur- 
muring flow  of  streamlets,  dancing  in  the  sun  and  filling 
the  whole  landscape  with  their  joyous  music. 

May  reigned  supreme — a  tender  blue-eyed  maiden, 
treading  upon  a  carpet  of  young  grass  with  flowers  in 
their  natural  colors  ;  and  nowhere  were  her  smiles  softer 
or  more  bright  than  there  at  Shadynook,  which  looks  still 
on  the  noble  river  flowing  to  the  sea,  and  on  the  distant 
town  of  Williamsburg,  from  which  light  clouds  of  smoke 
ciirl  upward  and  are  lost  in  the  far-reaching  azure. 

Shadynook  was  one  of  those  old  hip-roofed  houses 
which  the  traveller  of  to-day  meets  with  so  frequently, 
scattered  throughout  Virginia,  crowning  every  knoll  and 
giving  character  to  every  landscape.  Before  the  house 
stretched  a  green  lawn  bounded  by  a  low  fence ;  and  in 
the  rear  a  garden  full  of  flowers  and  blossoming  fruit 
trees  made  the  surrounding  air  faint  with  the  odorous 
breath  of  Spring. 


14:  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

Over  the  old  house,  whose  dormer  windows  were 
wreathed  with  the  mosses  of  age,  stretched  the  wide 
arms  of  two  noble  elms  ;  and  the  whole  homestead 
had  about  it  an  air  of  home  comfort,  and  a  quiet,  happy 
repose,  which  made  many  a  wayfarer  from  far  countries 
sigh,  as  he  gazed  on  it,  embowered  in  its  verdurous  grove. 

In  the  garden  is  an  arbor,  over  which  flowering  vines 
of  every  description  hover  and  bloom,  full  of  the  wine 
of  spring.  Around  the  arbor  extend  flower  plats  care- 
fully tended  and  fragrant  with  violets,  crocuses,  and  early 
primroses.  Foliage  of  the  light  tender  tint  of  May  clothes 
the  background,  and  looking  from  the  arbor  you  clearly 
discern  the  distant  barn  rising  above  the  trees. 

In  this  arbor  sits  or  rather  reclines  a  young  girl- — for  she 
has  stretched  herself  upon  the  trellised  seat,  with  a  lan- 
guid and  careless  ease,  which  betrays  total  abandon — 
an  abandon  engendered  probably  by  the  warm  languid 
air  of  May,  and  those  million  flowers  burdening  the  air 
with  perfume. 

This  is  Miss  Belle-bouche,  whom  we  have  heard  the 
melancholy  Jacques  discourse  of  withxsuch  forlorn  elo- 
quence to  his  friend  Tom,  or  Sir  Asinus,  as  the  reader 
pleases. 

Belle-bouche,  Pretty-mouth,  Belinda,  or  Rebecca — 
for  this  last  was  the  name  given  her  by  her  sponsors — 
is  a  young  girl  of  about  seventeen,  and  of  a  beauty 
so  fresh  and  rare  that  the  enthusiasm  of  Jacques  was 
scarcely  strange.  The  girl  has  about  her  the  freshness 
and  innocence  of  childhood,  the  grace  and  elegance  of 
the  inhabitants  of  that  realm  of  fairies  which  we  read 
of  in  the  olden  poets — all  the  warmth,  and  reality,  and 
beauty  of  those  lovelier  fairies  of  our  earth.  Around  her 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE    SCKAPES.  15 

delicate  brow  and  rosy  cheeks  fall  myriads  of  golden 
"  drop  curls,"  which  veil  the  deep-blue  eyes,  half  closed 
and  fixed  ilpon  the  open  volume  in  her  hand.  Belle- 
bouche  is  very  richly  clad,  in  a  velvet  gown,  a  satin  un- 
derskirt from  which  the  gown  is  looped  back,  wide  cuffs 
and  profuse  lace  at  wrists  and  neck";  and  on  her  diminu- 
tive feet,  which  peep  from  the  skirt,  are  red  morocco 
shoes  tied  with  bows  of  ribbon,  and  adorned  with  heels 
not  more  than  three  inches  in  height.  Her  hair  is  pow- 
dered and  woven  with  pearls — she  wears  a  pearl  neck- 
lace ;  she  looks  like  a  child  dressed  by  its  mother  for  a 
ball,  and  spoiled  long  ago  by  "  petting." 

Belle-bouche  reads  the  "Althea"  of  Lovelace,  and 
smiles  approvingly  at  the  gallant  poet's  assertion,  that 
the  birds  of  the  air  know  no  such  liberty  as  he  does,  fet- 
tered by  her  eyes  and  hair.  It  is  the  fashion  for  Lovelaces 
to  make  such  declarations,  and  with  a  coquettish  little 
movement  she  puts  back  the  drop  curls,  and  raises  her 
blue  eyes  to  the  sky  from  which  they  have  stolen  their 
hue. 

She  remains  for  some  moments  in  this  reverie,  and 
is  not  aware  of  the  approach  of  a  gallant  Lovelace,  who, 
hat  in  hand,  the  feather  of  the  said  hat  trailing  on  the 
ground,  draws  near. 

Who  is  this  gallant  but  our  friend  of  one  day's  stand- 
ing, the  handsome,  the  smiling,  the  forlorn,  the  melan- 
choly— and,  being  melancholy,  the  interesting— Jacques. 

He  approaches  smiling,  modest,  humble — a  consum- 
mate strategist ;  his  ambrosial  curls  and  powdered  queue 
tied  with  its  orange  ribbon,  shining  in  the  sun^  He 
wears  a  suit  of  cut  velvet  with  gold  buttons ;  a  flowered 


16  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J    OK, 

satin  waistcoat  reaching  to  his  knees  ;  scarlet  silk  stock 
ings,  and  high-heeled  worsted  shoes.  His  cuffs  would 
enter  a  barrel  with  difficulty,  and  his  chin  reposes  upon 
a  frill  of  irreproachable  Mechlin  lace. 

Jacques  finds  the  eyes  suddenly  turned  upon  him,  and 
bows  low.  Then  he  approaches,  falls  upon  one  knee,  and 
presses  his  lips  gallantly  to  the  hand  of  the  little  beauty, 
who  smiling  carelessly  rises  in  a  measure  from  her  recum- 
bent position. 

"  Do  I  find  the  fair  Belinda  reading  ?"  says  the  gal- 
lant ;  "  what  blessed  book  is  made  happy  by  the  light  of 
her  eyes  ?" 

Which  remarkable  words,  we  must  beg  the  reader  to 
remember,  were  after  the  fashion  of  the  time  and  scarcely 
more  than  commonplace.  The  fairer  portion  of  human- 
ity had  even  then  perfected  that  sovereignty  over  the 
males  which  in  our  own  day  is  so  very  observable.  So, 
instead  of  replying  in  a  tone  indicating  surprise,  the  lit- 
tle beauty  answers  quite  simply  : 

"  My  favorite — Lovelace." 

Jacques  heaves  a  sigh ;  for  the  music  of  the  voice  has 
touched  his  heart — nay,  overwhelmed  it  with  a  new  flood 
of  love. 

He  dangles  his  bonnet  and  plume,  and  carefully  ar- 
ranges a  drop  curl.  He,  the  prince  of  wits,  the  orna- 
ment of  ball  rooms,  the  star  of  the  minuet  and  reel,  is 
suddenly  quite  dumb,  and  seems  to  seek  for  a  subject 
to  discourse  upon  in  surrounding  objects. 

A  happy  idea  strikes  him ;  a  thought  occurs  to  him  ; 
he  grasps  at  it  with  the  desperation  of  a  drowning 
man.  He  says : 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  17 

"  "Tis  a  charming  day,  fairest  Belle-bouche — Belinda, 
I  mean.  Ah,  pardon  my  awkwardness !" 

And  the  unhappy  Corydon  betrays  by  his  confusion 
how  much  this  slip  of  the  tongue  has  embarrassed  him 
— at  least,  that  he  wishes  her  to  think  so. 

The  little  beauty  smiles  faintly,  and  bending  a  fatal 
languishing  glance  upon  her  admirer,  says : 

"  You  calle(^  me — what  was  it  ?" 

"  Ah,  pardon  me." 

"  Oh  certainly ! — but  please  say  what  you  called  me." 

"How  can  I?" 

"  By  telling  me,"  says  the  beauty  philosophically. 
f  "  Must  I  ?"  says  Jacques,  reflecting  that  after  all  his 
offence  was  not  so  dreadful. 

"If  you  please." 

"IsaidBelle.-bouche." 

"Ah!  that  is 2" 

"  Pretty-mouth,"  says  Lovelace,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  is  caught  feloniously  appropriating  sheep ;  but 
unable  to  refrain  from  bending  wistful  looks  upon  the 
topic  of  his  discourse. 

« Belle-bouche   laughs  with  a  delicious   good   humor, 
and  Jacques  takes  heart  again. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  she  says ;  "  but  what  a  pretty  name !" 

"  Do  you  like  it,  really  ?"  asks  the  forlorn  lover. 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"  And  may  I  call  you  Belle-bouche  ?" 

"If  you  please." 

Jacques  feels  his  heart  oppressed  with  its  weight  of 
love.  He  sighs.  This  manoeuvre  is  greeted  with  a 
little  laugh. 


18  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFKKSON  J    OB, 

"  Qh,  that  was  a  dreadful  heigho !"  she  says ;  "  you 
must  be  in  love." 

"I  am,"  he  says,  "desperately." 

A  slight  color  comes  to  her  bright  cheek,  for  it  is 
impossible  to  misunderstand  his  eloquent  glance. 

"  Are  you  ?"  she  says  ;  "  but  that  is  wrong.  Fie  on't ! 
Was  ever  Cory  don  really  in  love  with  his  Chloe — or  are 
his  affections  always  confined  to  the  fluttering  ribbons, 
and  the  crook,  wreathed  with  flowers,  which  make  her  a 
pleasant  object  only,  like  a  picture?" 

Jacques  sighs. 

"  I  am  not  a  Corydon,"  he  says,  "  much  less  have  I 
a  Chloe — at  least,  who  treats  me  as  Chloes  should  treat 
their  faithful  shepherds.  My  Chloe  runs  away  when  1 
approach,  and  her  crook  turns  into  a  shadow  which  I 
grasp  in  vain  at.  The  shepherdess  has  escaped !" 

"  It  is  well  she  don't  beat  you,"  says  the  lovely  girl, 
smiling. 

"  Beat  me !" 

"  With  her  crook." 

"  Ah !  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  excite  some  emo- 
tion in  her  tender  heart  more  lively  than  indifference^ 
Perhaps  were  she  to  hate  me  a  little,  and  consequently 
beat  me,  as  you  have  said,  she  might  end  by  drawing 
me  towards  her  with  her  flowery  crook." 

The  young  girl  laughs. 

"Would you  follow?" 

"  Ah,  yes — for  who  knows ?" 

He  pauses,  smiling  wistfully. 

"  Ah,  finish — finish !  I  know  'tis  something  pretty  by 
the  manner  in  which  you  smile,"  she  says,  laughing. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  19 

"  "Who  knows,  I  would  say,  but  in  following  her, 
fairest  Belle-bouche — may  I  call  you  Belle-bouche  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  if  you  please — if  you  think  it  suits  me." 

And  she  pours  the  full  light  of  her  eyes  and  smiles 
upon  him,  until  he  looks  down,  blinded. 

"  Pity,  pity,"  he  murmurs,  "  pity,  dearest  Miss  Belle- 
bouche " 

She  pretends  not  to  hear,  but,  turning  away  with  a 
blush  at  that  word  "  dearest,"  says,  with  an  attempt 
at  a  laugh : 

"  You  have  not  told  me  why  you  would  wish  your 
Chloe  to  draw  you  after  her  with  her  crook." 

"  Because  we  should  pass  through  the  groves " 

"  Well." 

"  And  I  should  wrap  her  in  my  cloak,  to  protect  her 
from  the  boughs  and  thorns." 

"Would  you?" 

"  Ah,  yes !  And  then  we  should  cross  the  beautiful 
meadows  and  the  flowery  knolls " 

"  Yery  well,  sir." 

"  And  I  should  gather  flowers  for  her,  and  kneeling 
to  present  them,  would  approach  near  enough  to  kiss 
her  hand " 

"  Oh  goodness !" 

"And  finally,  fairest  Belle-bouche,  we  should  cross 
the  bright  streams  on  the  pretty  sylvan  bridges " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  most  probably  she  would  grow  giddy ;  and  I 
should  take  her  in  my  arms,  and  holding  her  on  my 
faithful  bosom " 

Jacques  opens  his  arms  as  though  he  would  really 
clasp  the  fair  shepherdess,  who,  half  risen,  with  her 


20  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON. 

golden  curls  mingled  with  the  flowers,  her  cheeks  the 
color  of  her  red  fluttering  ribbons,  seeks  to  escape  the 
declaration  which  her  lover  is  about  to  make. 

"  Oh,  no  !  no !"  she  says. 

He  draws  back  despairingly,  and  at  the  same  moment 
hears  a  merry  voice  come  singing  down  the  blossom-fret- 
ted walk,  upon  which  millions  of  the  snowy  leaves  have 
fallen. 

"  One  more  chance  gone  !"  the  melancholy  Jacques 
murmurs ;  and  turning,  he  bows  to  the  new  comer — the 
fair  Philippa. 


CHAPTEK   III. 


AN   HEIRESS   WHO   WISHES   TO   BECOME  A   MAN. 

PHILIPPA  is  a  lady  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  with  the 
air  of  a  duchess  and  the  walk  of  an  antelope.  Her 
brilliant  eyes,  as  black  as  night,  and  as  clear  as  a  sunny 
stream,  are  full  of  life,  vivacity  and  mischief;  she  seems 
to  be  laughing  at  life,  and  love,  and  gallantry,  and  all  the 
complimentary  nothings  of  society,  from  the  height  of 
her  superior  intellect,  and  with  undazzled  eyes.  She 
is  clad  even  more  richly  than  Belle-bouche,  for  Phi- 
lippa  is  an  heiress — the  mistress  of  untold  farms — or  plan- 
tations as  they  then  said ; — miles  of  James  Kiver  "  low 
grounds"  and  uncounted  Africans.  Like  the  Duke  of 
Burgundy's,  her  sovereignty  is  acknowledged  in  three 
languages — the  English,  the  African  or  Moorish,  and 
the  Indian :  for  the  Indian  settlement  on  the  south 
side  calls  her  mistress,  and  sends  to  her  for  blankets  in 
the  winter.  In  the  summer  it  is  not  necessary  to  ask  for 
the  produce 'of  her  estate,  such  as  they  desire — they  ap- 
propriate it. 

Philippa  is  a  cousin  of  Belle-bouche ;  and  Belle- 
bouche  is  the  niece  of  Aunt  "Wimple,  who  is  mistress  of 
the  Shadynook  domain.  Philippa  has  guardians,  but  it 
cannot  be  said  they  direct  her  movements.  They  have 
given  up  that  task  in  despair,  some  years  since,  and 
only  hope  that  from  the  numerous  cormorants  always 


22  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

hovering  around  her,  she  may  select  one  not  wholly 
insatiable — with  some  craw  of  mercy. 

"There,  you  are  talking  about  flowers,  I  lay  a  wa- 
ger," she  says,  returning  the  bow  of  Jacques,  and  laugh- 
ing. 

"  I  was  speaking  neither  of  yourself  nor  the  fair  Be- 
linda," replies  Jacques,  with  melancholy  gallantry. 

"  There  !  please  have  done  with  compliments — I  de- 
test them." 

"  You  detest  every  thing  insincere,  I  know,  charming 
Philippa — pardon  me,  but  your  beautiful  name  betrays 
me  constantly.  Is  it  not — like  your  voice — stolen  from 
poetry  or  music  ?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  are  insufferable." 

"  Pardon,  pardon — but  in  this  beautiful  and  fair  sea- 
son, so  full  of  flowers " 

"  You  think  it  necessary  to  employ  flowers  of  speech : 
that  is  what  you  were  going  to  say,  but  for  heaven's  sake 
have  done." 

Jacques  bows. 

"  I  have  just  discarded  the  twentieth,  Bel,"  she  adds, 
laughing ;  "  he  got  on  his  knees." 

And  Philippa  laughs  heartily. 

Jacques  is  used  to  his  companion's  manner  of  talking, 
and  says : 

"  Who  was  it,  pray,  madam — Mowbray  ?" 

A  flush  passes  over  Philippa's  face,  and  she  looks 
away,  murmuring  "No!" 

"  I  won't  go  over  the  list  of  your  admirers,"  continues 
Jacques,  sadly,  "  they  are  too  numerous  ;  for  who  can 
wonder  at  such  a  fairy  face  as  yours  attracting  crowds 
of  lovers  ?" 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   8CKAPE8.  23 

"  My  fairy  face  ?  Yes,  and  my  unhappy  wealth,  sir. 
I  wish  I  was  poor !  I  can  never  know  when  I  am  loved 
truly.  Oh,  to  know  that !" 

And  a  shadow  passes  over  the  face,  obliterating  the 
satire,  and  veiling  the  brilliant  eyes.  Then  with  an 
effort  Philippa  drives  away  her  preoccupation,  and  says  : 

"  I  wish  Heaven  had  made  me  a  man  !" 

"  A  man  ?"  says  Jacques. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Pray  why  ?  Is  there  any  young  lady  you  would 
like  to  marry  ?  Ah,"  he  murmurs,  "  you  need  not  go 
far  if  that  is  the  case." 

And  he  glances  tenderly  at  Belle-bouche,  who  smiles 
and  blushes. 

"  I  wish  to  be  a  man,  that  my  movements  may  not 
be  restricted.  There  is  my  guardian,  who  murmurs  at 
my  travelling  about  from  county  to  county  with  only 
Jugurtha  to  drive  me — as  if  Jugurtha  couldn't  protect 
me  if  there  were  any  highwaymen  or  robbers." 

Jacques  laughs. 

"  But  there  are  disadvantages  connected  with  man- 
hood," he  says.  "  You  are  ignorant  of  them,  and  so 
think  them  slight." 

"  The  prominent  ones,  if  you  please." 

"  You  would  have  to  make  love — the  active  instead 
of  passive,  as  at  present." 

"  I  would  enjoy  it." 

"  How  would  you  commence,  pray  ?" 

"  Oh,  easily — see  now.  I  would  say,  '  My  dear  Bel ! 
I  am  at  your  service !  If  you  love  me,  Fll  love  you  /' 
And  then  with  a  low  bow  I  would  kiss  her  hand,  and 
her  lips  too,  if  she  would  permit  me." 


24  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OK, 

Jacques  sighs. 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  succeed,  however  ?"  he 
says. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care — I'd  try." 

Jacques  sighs  again,  and  looks  wistfully  at  Belle- 
bouche,  who  smiles. 

"  I'm  afraid  such  a  cavalier  address — at  the  pistol's 
mouth  as  it  were— at  forty  paces — like  those  highway- 
men you  spoke  of  but  now — would  only  insure  failure." 

"  You  are  mistaken." 

"  I  doubt  the  propriety  of  such  a  '  making  love.' " 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  you  would  see  my  success.  I'd 
have  any  woman  for  the  asking." 

""Well,  fancy  yourself  a  man." 

"  And  who  will  be  my  lady-love  ?" 

"  Fancy  my  sex  changed  also — make  love  to  me,  my 
charming  Madam  Philippa." 

"  Forsooth !     But  I  could  win  your  heart  easily." 

"How,  pray,"  says  Jacques,  sighing,  "granting  first 
that  'tis  in  my  possession  ?" 

"  By  two  simple  things." 

"To  wit?" 

"  I  would  talk  to  you  of  flowers  and  shepherdesses, 
and  crooks  and  garlands " 

"  Oh !" 

"  And  I  would  adopt,  if  I  had  not  naturally,  that  frank, 
languid,  graceful,  fatal  air  which — which — shall  I  fin- 
ish?" 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  Which  Bel  has  !     What  a  beautiful  blush !" 

And  Philippa  claps  her  hands. 

Jacques  tries  very  hard  not  to  color,  thus  forfeiting  all 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  25 

his  pretensions  to  the  character  of  a  self-possessed  man 
of  the  world  and  elegant  coxcomb ;  but  this  is  equally 
forlorn  with  his  attempt  not  to  observe  the  mischievous 
glance  and  satirical  lip  of  the  fair  Philippa. 

He  seeks  in  vain  for  a  word — a  jest — a  reply. 

Fortune  favors  him.  A  maid  from  the  house  ap- 
proaches Philippa,  and  says : 

"  Mr.  Mowbray,  ma'am." 

A  blush,  deeper  than  that  upon  the  face  of  Jacques, 
mantles  Philippa's  cheeks  as  she  replies : 

"  Say  I  am  coming." 

"Before  you  go,"  says  Jacques  with  odious  triumph, 
"  permit  me  to  say,  Madam  Philippa,  that  I  begin  to  see 
some  of  the  advantages  you  might  enjoy  were  you  a 
man." 

"  What  are  they,  pray — more  than  I  have  mention- 
ed ?"  she  says  coolly. 

"  You  might  have  more  liberty." 

"  I  said  as  much." 

"  Tou  might  go  and  see  your  friends." 

"  You  repeat  my  words,  sir." 

"  Yes — you  might  even  go  and  see  us  at  college ;  lis- 
ten to  my  philosophical  discussions  after  lecture ;  and 
take  part  in  Mowbray's  tfierry  jests — an  excellent  friend 
of  yours,  I  think." 

Philippa  looks  at  him  for  a  moment,  hesitating 
whether  she  shall  stay  and  take  her  revenge.  She  de- 
cides to  go  in,  however ;  and  Jacques  and  Belle-bouche 
follow.  We  are  bound  to  say  that  the  proposition  did 
not  come  from  Jacques. 

2 


CHAPTEE   IY. 

A  POOR   YOUNG  MAN,    AND   A  EIOH   YOUNG   GIRL. 

TN  the  drawing-room  sat  a  gentleman  turning  over  the 
_L  leaves  of  a  book. 

The  apartment  was  decorated  after  the  usual  fashion 
of  the  olden  time.  On  the  floor  was  a  rich  carpet  from 
Antwerp,  in  the  corner  a  japanned  cabinet ;  everywhere 
crooked-legged  tables  and  carved  chairs  obstructed  the 
floor,  and  on  the  threshold  a  lap-dog  snapped  at  the  flies 
in  his  dreams.  Besides,  there  were  portraits  of  powdered 
dames,  and  hideous  china  ornaments  on  the  tall  narrow 
mantlepiece ;  and  an  embroidered  screen  in  the  recess 
next  the  fireplace  described  with  silent  eloquence  the 
life  of  Arcady. 

Mowbray  was  a  young  man  of  twenty -five  or  six,  with 
a  high  pale  forehead,  dark  eyes  full  of  thoughtful  intel- 
ligence ;  and  his  dress  was  rather  that  of  a  student  than 
a  man  of  the  world.  It  was  plain  and  simple,  and  all 
the  colors  were  subdued.  Ht-  was  a  man  for  a  woman 
to  listen  to,  rather  than  laugh  with.  His  manner  was 
calm,  perfectly  self-possessed,  and  his  mind  seemed  to 
be  dwelling  upon  one  dominant  idea. 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  Philippa,  inclining  her  head 
indifferently ;  "  we  have  a  very  pleasant  day." 

Mowbray  rose  and  bowed  calmly. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  he  said ;  "  my  ride  was  quite  agree- 
able." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  27 

"Any  news,  sir?" 

"  None,  except  a  confirmation  of  those  designs  of  the 
ministry  which  are  now  causing  so  much  discussion." 

"What  designs?" 

A  faint  smile  passed  over  Mowbray's  calm  face. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  that  politics  will. amuse  you?" 
he  said. 

"  Amuse  ?  no,  sir.  But  you  seem  to  have  fallen  into  the 
fashionable  error,  that  ladies  only  require  amusement." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  You  do  me  injustice,"  he  said ;  "  no  man  has  so  high 
an  opinion  of  your  sex,  madam,  as  I  have." 

"  I  doubt  it — you  deceive  yourself." 

"  Excuse  me,  but  I  do  not." 

"You  are  one  of  the  lords  of  creation,"  said  Philippa 
satirically. 

"  A  very  poor  lord,"  he  replied  calmly. 

"  Are  you  poor  ?"  asked  Philippa  as  coolly. 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  But  you  design  being  rich  some  day  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  if  my  brain  serves  me." 

"  You  aspire  perhaps  to  his  Majesty's  council?" 

"  No,  madam,"  he  replied,  with  perfect  coolness ; 
"  were  I  in  public  life,  I  should  most  probably  be  in  the 
opposition." 

"  A  better  opening." 

"  No ;  but  better  for  one  who  holds  my  opinions — 
better  for  the  conscience." 

"  And  for  the  purse  ?" 

"  I  know  not.  If  you  mean  that  public  life  holds  out 
pecuniary  rewards,  I  think  you  are  mistaken." 

"  Then  you  will  not  become  rich  by  politics  ?" 


28  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

"  I  think,  madam,  that  there  is  little  chance  of  that." 

"  Still  you  would  wish  to  be  wealthy  ?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"You  are  fond  of  luxury?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  Horses,  wines,  carriages  ?" 

"  Excuse  me — no." 

"What  then?" 

"  The  luxury  of  seeing  my  orphan  sister  surrounded 
with  every  comfort." 

A  flush  passed  over  Philippa's  face,  and  she  turned 
away  ;  but  she  was  not  satisfied. 

"There  is  a  very  plain  and  easy  way  to  arrive  at 
wealth,  sir,"  she  said ;  "  law  is  so  slow." 

"  Please  indicate  it." 

"  Marry  an  heiress." 

There  was  a  silence  after  these  words ;  and  Philippa 
could  scarcely  sustain  the  clear  fixed  look  which  he  bent 
upon  her  face. 

"  Is  that  your  advice,  madam  ?"  he  said  coldly.  "  I 
thank  you  for  it." 

His  tone  piqued  her. 

"  Then  follow  it,"  she  said. 

"  Excuse  me  again." 

"  Is  it  not  friendly  ?" 

"  Possibly,  but  not  to  my  taste." 

"  Why,  sir  ?" 

"  First,  because  the  course  you  suggest  is  not  very 
honorable ;  secondly,  and  in  another  aspect,  it  is  very 
disgraceful ;  again,  it  is  too  expensive,  if  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  utter  what  seems  to  be,  but  is  not,  a  very  rude 
and  cynical  speech." 


A  CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  29' 

"  Not  honorable — disgraceful — too  expensive !  In- 
deed !  Why,  sir,  you  at  once  exclude  heiresses  from 
matrimony." 

"  Not  so,  madam." 

"  Not  honorable !" 

"  I  think  it  is  not  honorable  to  acquire  wealth,  for  the 
best  purpose  in  the  world,  by  giving  the  hand  and  not 
the  heart." 

"The  hand  and  the  heart! — who  speaks  of  heart  in 
these  days  ?  But  you  say  it  is  even  disgraceful  to  marry 
an  heiress." 

"  Not  at  all :  but  if  a  man  does  not  love  a  woman,  is 
it  not  disgraceful  in  the  full  sense  of  that  word,  madam, 
to  unite  himself  to  her,  or  rather  to  her  money  bags,  only 
that  he  may  procure  the  means  of  living  in  luxury,  and 
gratifying  his  expensive  tastes  and  vices  ?" 

"  If  he  does  not  love  her,  you  say.  Love !  that  is  a 
very  pretty  word,  and  rhymes,  I  believe,  to  dove! 
"Well,  sir,  you  have  endeavored  to  establish  your  point 
by  the  aid  of  two  delightful  phrases,  '  the  hand  and  not 
the  heart' — 'the  man  who  does  not  love  a  woman' — 
beautiful-words,  only  I  do  n't  believe  in  them.  Now  be 
good  enough  to  explain  your  third  point : — how  is  it  too 
'  expensive '  to  marry  a  wealthy  woman  ?  I  know  you 
gentlemen  at  the  college  are  inveterate  logicians,  and 
find  little  difficulty  in  proving  that  twice  two 's  five,  and 
that  black  is  irreproachable  white — that  fire  is  cold — ice, 
hot — smoke,  heavy — and  lead  light  as  thistle-down. 
Still  I  imagine  you  will  find  it  difficult  to  show  that  't  is 
expensive  to  marry,  let  us  say,  fifty  thousand  pounds  a 
year!" 

Mowbray  looked  at  her  face  a  moment,  and  sighed; 


"30  THE  YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J    OK, 

a  great  hope  seemed  to  be  leaving  him  ;  when  he  spoke, 
it  was  with  manifest  repugnance. 

"Let  us  dismiss  this  singular  subject,  madarn,"  he 
said  calmly;  "I  spoke  too  thoughtlessly.  See  that 
lovely  humming-bird  around  the  honeysuckle,  searching 
in  vain  for  honey." 

"  As  I  do  for  your  reasons,  sir,"  said  Philippa  curtly. 

"My  reasons?" 

"  You  refuse  to  explain " 

""Well,  well — I  see  you  will  compel  me  to  speak. 
Well,  madam,  my  meaning  is  very  simple.  When  I 
say  that  it  is  too  '  expensive '  to  unite  oneself  to  a  wo- 
man solely  because  that  woman  has  for  her  portion  a 
great  fortune,  a  large  income,  every  luxury  and  ele- 
gance to  endow  her  husband  with — I  mean  simply  that 
if  this  woman  be  uncongenial,  if  her  husband  care 
nothing  for  her,  only  her  fortune,  then  that  he  will 
necessarily  be  unhappy,  and  that  unhappiness  is  cheaply 
bought  with  millions.  Money  only  goes  a  certain  way 
— tell  me  when  it  bought  a  heart !  Mine,  madam,  it 
will  never  buy  at  least — if  you  wTill  permit  me  to  utter  a 
sentence  in  such  bad  taste.  .  And  now  let  us  .abandon 
this  discussion,  which  leads  us  into  such  serious  moods." 

She  turned  away,  and  looked  through  the  window. 

Two  birds  were  playfully  contending  in  the  air,  and 
filling  the  groves  with  their  joyous  carolling. 

"  How  free  they  are !"  she  murmured. 

"The  birds?  Yes,  madam,  they  live  in  delightful 
liberty,  as  we  of  America  will,  I  trust,  some  day." 

"  I  wonder  if  they 're  married,"  said  Philippa  laughing, 
and  refusing  to  enter  upon  the  wrongs  of  England  toward 
the  colonies ;  "  they  are  fighting,  I  believe,  and  thus  Z 


A   CHRONICLE  OF  COLLEGE   SCEAPES.  31 

presume  they  are  united  in  marriage — by  some  parson 
Crow!" 

Mowbray  only  smiled  slightly,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"What!  not  going!"  cried  Philippa. 

"  Pardon,"  he  said  ;  "  I  just  rode  out  for  an  hour.  We 
have  a  lecture  in  half  an  hour." 

"And  you  prefer  the  excellent  Dr.  Small  or  some  other 
reverend  gentleman  to  myself — the  collegiate  to  the  syl- 
van, the  male  to  the  female  lecturer  ?" 

He  smiled  wearily. 

"  Our  duties  are  becoming  more  exacting,"  he  said ; 
"  the  examination  is  approaching." 

"I  should  suppose  so — you  have  not  been  to  see  me 
for  a  whole  week." 

A  flush  passed  over  Mowbray's  brow ;  then  it  became 
as  pale  as  before. 

"  Our  acquaintance  has  not  been  an  extended  one," 
he  said  ;  "  I  could  not  intrude  upon  your  society." 

"  Intrude !" 

And  abandoning  completely  her  laughing  cynical 
manner,  Philippa  gave  him  a  look  which  made  him 
tremble.  Why  was  thatr  excitement  ?  Because  he 
thought  he  had  fathomed  her;  because  he  had  con-fl 
vinced  himself  that  she  was  a  coquette,  amusing  herself 
at  his  expense  ;  because  he  saw  all  his  dreams,  his  illu- 
sions, his  hopes  pass  away  with  the  fleeting  minutes. 
He  replied  simply : 

"  Yes,  madam — even  now  I  fear  I  am  trespassing 
upon  your  time ;  you  probably  await  my  departure  to 
betake  yourself  to  your  morning's  amusement.  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  imagine  that  I  had  not  completely  lost 
my  powers  of  conversation,  buried  as  I  have  been  in 


32  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFEKSON. 

books.  I  was  mistaken — I  no  longer  jest — I  am  a  poor 
companion.  Then,"  he  added,  "  we  are  so  uncongenial 
— at  least  this  morning.  I  will  come  some  day  when  I 
am  gay,  and  you  sad — then  we  shall  probably  approxi- 
mate in  mood,  and  until  then  farewell." 

She  would  have  detained  him ;  "  Don't  go !"  was  on 
her  lips ;  »but  at  the  moment  when  Mowbray  bowed 
low,  a  shout  of  laughter  was  heard  in  the  passage,  and 
three  persons  entered — Jacques,  Belle-bouche,  and  Sir 
Asinus. 


CHAPTEK  Y. 

IN   WHICH    Sffi   ASINUS   MAKES   AN   IGNOMINIOUS   KETREAT 

SIR  ASINUS   was   apparently  in   high  spirits,  and 
smoothed  the  nap  of  his  cocked  hat  with  his  sleeve 
— the  said  sleeve  being  of  Mecklenburg  silk — in  a  way 
which  indicated  the  summit  of  felicity. 

He  seemed  to  inhale  the  May  morning  joyously  after 
his  late  imprisonment ;  and  he  betook  himself  immedi- 
ately to  paying  assiduous  court  to  Miss  Belle-bouche, 
who,  the  sooth  to  say,  did  not  seem  ill-disposed  to  get 
rid  of  Jacques. 

Poor  Jacques,  therefore,  made  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  engage  Philippa  in  conversation.  This  failing — for 
Philippa  was  watching  Mowbray  disappearing  toward 
Williamsburg — the  melancholy  Jacques  made  friends 
with  the  lap-dog,  who  at  jirst  was  propitious,  but  ended 
by  snapping  at  his  fingers. 

"  A  delightful  day,  my  dear  madam,"  he  said  to 
Philippa,  once  more  endeavoring  to  open  an  account 
current  of  conversation. 

Philippa,  with  bent  brows,  made  no  reply. 

"  The  birds  are  having  a  charming  time,  it  seems." 

Poor  Jacques !  Philippa  is  buried  in  thought,  and 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  receding  horseman,  does  not 
hear  him. 

"  You  seem  preoccupied,  madam,"  he  said. 
2* 


34?  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

"  Yes,  a  charming  day,  sir,"  she  said,  rising ;  "  did 
you  say  it  was  pleasant?  I  agree  with  you.  If  I 
dared !"  she  added  to  herself,  "  if  I  only  dared !  But 
what  do  I  not  dare !" 

And  she  abruptly  left  the  room,  to  the  profound  as- 
tonishment of  Jacques,  who  sat  gazing  after  her  with 
wide-extended  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  he  was  in  love  with  her,  my  dear  Miss 
Belle-bouche,  since  you  say  that  will  in  future  be  your 
name — it  is  either  with  you  or  Madam  Philippa." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  confidential  whisper  to 
Belle-bouche  by  Sir  Asinus,  who  was  leaning  forward 
gracefully  in  a  tall  carven-backed  chair  toward  his  com- 
panion, who  reposed  luxuriously  upon  an  ottoman 
covered  with  damask,  and  ornamented  quoad  the  legs 
with  satyr  heads. 

Belle-bouche  suffered  her  glance  to  follow  that  of  her 
companion.  Jacques  was  indeed,  as  we  have  said,  gaz- 
ing after  the  lady  who  had  just  departed,  and  for  this 
purpose  had  opened  his  eyes  to  their  greatest  possible 
width.  He  resembled  a  china  mandarin  in  the  costume 
of  Louis  Quatorze. 

"  Am  I  mistaken  ?"  said  Sir  Asinus. 

Belle-bouche  sighed. 

"  A  plain  case  :  he  is  even  now  saying  to  himself,  my 
dear  Miss  Belle-bouche, 

'  Quis  desiderio  sit  pudor  aut  modus 
Jam  cari  capitis ' 

which  means,  'How  can  I  make  up  my  mind  to  see 
you  go  up  stairs  ?' 


A   CHRONICLE  OF  COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  35 

Belle-bouche  cast  a  tender  glance  at  Jacques.  Sir 
Asinus  continued : 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see  you  pity  him.  But  you  should  pity 
me." 

"Why?" 

"  Your  watch-paper — you  remember;  the  one  which 
you  cut  for  me  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  last  night  I  placed  my  watch  on  my  window 
— before  retiring,  you  know;  and  in  the  night,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Asinus,  "  it  commenced  raining " 

"  That  was  last  night  ?" 

"  Yes,  Madam  Belle-bouche.  Well,  the  roof  leaked, 
and  presto  !  when  I  rose  I  found  my  watch  swimming 
in  water — your  watch-paper  all  soaked  and  torn — that  is 
to  say,  my  fingers  tore  it ;  and  a  dozen  minuets  I  had 
bought  for  you  shared  the  same  fate,  not  to  mention  my 
jemmy- worked  garters!  My  ill  luck  was  complete — 
me  miserum  /" 

"  Was  it  at  college  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Sir  Asinus ;  "  you  know  I  am  tempo- 
rarily absent  from  the  Alma  Mater" 

"  Indeed !" 

"  Yes.  I  have  taken  up  my  residence  in  town — in 
Gloucester  street,  where  I  am  always  happy  to  see  my 
friends.  Just  imagine  a  man  persecuted  by  the  pro- 
fessors of  the  great  University  of  William  and  Mary  for 
the  reason  I  was." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Because  I  uttered  some  heresies.  I  said  the  Estab- 
lished Church  was  a  farce,  and  that  women,  contrary  to 
the  philosophy  of  antiquity,  really  had  souls.  The  great 


36  THE    YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

Doctor  could  pardon  my  fling  at  the  church ;  but  being 
an  old  woman  himself,  could  not  pardon  my  even  seem- 
ing to  revive  the  discussion  of  the  heresy  in  relation  to 
your  sex.  What  was  the  consequence  ?  I  had  to  flee — 
the  enemy  went  about  to  destroy  me :  behold  me  now 
the  denizen  of  a  second  floor  in  old  Mother  Bobbery's 
house,  Gloucester  street,  city  of  Williamsburg." 

"  Rusticating  you  call  it,  I  think,"  says  Belle-bouche, 
smiling  languidly,  and  raising  her  brow  to  catch  the 
faint  May  breeze  which  moves  her  curls. 

"  Yes  ;  rusticating  is  the  very  word — derived  from 
rus,  a  Latin  word  signifying  main  street,  and  tike,  a 
Greek  word  meaning  to  live  in  bachelor  freedom.  It 
applies  to  me  exactly,  you  see.  I  live  in  bachelor  free- 
dom on  Gloucester  street,  and  I  only  want  a  wife  to  make 
my  happiness  complete." 

Belle-bouche  smiles. 

"You  are  then  dissatisfied?"  she  says. 

"  Yes,"  sighs  Sir  Asinus ;  "  yes,  in  spite  of  my  pipes 
and  books  and  pictures,  and  all  appliances  and  means  to 
boot  for  happiness,  I  am  lonely.  Now  suppose  I  had 
a  charming  little  wife — a  paragon  of  a  wife,  with  blue 
eyes  and  golden  curls,  and  a  sweet  languishing  air,  to 
chat  with  in  the  long  days  and  gloomy  evenings !" 

Belle-bouche  recognises  her  portrait,  and  smiles. 

Sir  Asinus  continues : 

"  Not  only  would  I  be  happier,  but  more  at  my  ease. 
To  tell  you  the  humiliating  truth,  my  dear  Miss  Belle- 
bouche,  I  am  in  hourly  fear  of  being  arrested." 

"  Would  a  wife  prevent  that  ?" 

"  Certainly.  What  base  proctor  would  dare  lay  hands 
upon  a  married  man?  But  this  all  disappears  like  a 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  37 

vision — it  is  a  dream :  fuit  Ilium,  ingens  gloria  Teucro- 
rumque ;  which  means,  'Mrs.  Tom  is  still  in  a  state  of 
single  blessedness,'  that  being  the  literal  translation  of 
the  Hebrew." 

And  Sir  Asinus  smiles ;  and  seeing  Jacques  approach, 
looks  at  him  triumphantly. 

Jacques  has  just  been  bitten  by  the  lap  dog ;  and  this, 
added  to  his  melancholy  and  jealousy,  causes  him  to  feel 
desolate. 

"  Pardon  my  interrupting  your  pleasant'conversation," 
he  says. 

"Oh,  no  interruption!"  says  Sir  Asinus  triumphantly. 

"  But  I  thought  I  'd  mention- " 

"Speak  out,  speak  out !"  says  Sir  Asinus,  shaking  with 
laughter,  and  assuming  a  generous  and  noble  air. 

"I  observed  through  the  window  a  visitor,  fairest 
Belinda." 

"Ah !  I  was  so  closely  engaged,"  says  Sir  Asinus,  "like 
a  knight  of  the  middle  ages,  I  thought  only  of  my  '  ladye 
faire.'  Nothing  can  move  me  from  her  side !" 

"  Indeed  ?"  says  Jacques. 

"  Nothing !" 

"Well,  well,  at  least  I  have  not  counselled  such 
desertion  on  your  part.  The  visitor  at  the  gate  there 
is  Doctor  Small  from  college.  I  only  thought  I  'd  men- 
tion it !" 

Like  an  electric  shock  dart  the  words  of  Jacques 
through  the  frame  of  the  chivalric  Sir  Asinus.  He  starts 
to  his  feet — gazes  around  him  despairingly,  seeking  a  place 
of  refuge. 

The  step  of  worthy  Doctor  Small  is  heard  upon  the 
portico ;  Sir  Asinus  quakes. 


38  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFEKSON  J    OB, 

"Are  you  unwell,  my  dear  friend  ?"  asks  Jacques  with 
melancholy  interest. 

"  I  am — really — come,  Jacques !"  stammers  Sir  Asinns. 

"Are  you  indisposed  ?" 

"  To  meet  the  Doctor  ?  I  rather  think  I  am.  Mercy  ! 
mercy !  dear  Cam/pana  in  die"  cries  the  knight ;  "  hide 
me !  hide  me ! — up  stairs,  down  stairs — any  where  !" 

The  footstep  sounded  in  the  passage. 

Belle-bouclie  laughed  with  that  musical  contagious 
merriment  which  characterized  her. 

"  But  what  shall  we  say  ?"  she  asks ;  "  I  can't  tell  the 
Doctor  you  are  not  here." 

"  Then  I  must  go.  Can  I  escape  ?  Oh  heavens !  there 
is  his  shadow  on  the  floor !  Jacques,  my  boy,  protect 
my  memory — I  must  retire  !" 

And  Sir  Asinus  rushed  through  the  open  door  leading 
into  the  adjoining  room,  just  as  Doctor  Small  entered 
with  his  benevolent  smile  and  courteous  inclination. 

He  had  been  informed  in  town,  he  said,  that  his  young 
friend  Thomas,  withdrawn  now  some  days  from  college, 
was  at  Shadynook  ;  and  taking  advantage  of  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Mrs.  "Wimple,  and  he  was  happy  to  add  with 
Miss  Rebecca,  he  had  come  to  find  and  have  some  friend- 
ly conversation  with  Thomas.  Had  he  been  at  Shady- 
nook,  or  MTas  he  misinformed  ? 

The  reply  was  easy.  Sir  Asinus  had  disappeared 
through  a  door  leading  into  the  garden  some  moments 
before,  and  Belle-bouche  could  reply  most  truthfully — as 
she  did — that  the  truant  had  visited  her  that  morning, 
but  was  gone. 

The  worthy  Doctor  smiled,  and  said  no  more. 

He  exchanged  a  few  words  on  the  pleasant  weather — 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  39 

smiled  benevolently  on  the  young  girl — and  with  a  sly 
glance  asked  Jacques  if  he  designed  attending  lecture 
that  morning. 

The  melancholy  Jacques  hesitated :  a  look  from  Belle- 
bouche  would  have  caused  him  to  reply  that  he  regretted 
exceedingly  his  inability  to  honor  his  Alma  Mater  on 
that  particular  occasion ;  but  unfortunately  the  young 
girl  said  nothing.  Was  she  afraid  of  a  second  private  in- 
terview, wherein  the  subject  should  be  crooks  and  shep- 
herdesses, and  the  hopes  of  Corydons  ?  At  all  events, 
Belle-bouche  played  with  her  lace  cuif,  and  her  counte- 
nance wore  nothing  more  than  its  habitual  faint  smile. 

Jacques  heaved  a  sigh,  and  said  he  believed  he  ought 
to  go. 

The  Doctor  rose,  and  pressing  Belle-bouche's  hand, 
kindly  took  his  leave — followed  by  Jacques,  who  cast  a 
last  longing,  lingering  look  behind. 

As  for  Sir  Asinus,  we  regret  to  speak  of  him.  Where 
were  now  all  his  chivalric  thoughts — his  noble  resolu- 
tions— his  courage  and  devotion  to  his  lady  fair  ?  Alas  ! 
humanity  is  weak :  we  are  compelled  to  say  that  the 
heroic  knight,  the  ardent  lover,  the  iron-hearted  .rebel, 
suddenly  changed  his  device,  and  took  for  his  crest  a  lion 
no  longer,  only  a  hare. 

From  the  back  room  he  emerged  into  the  garden,  quak- 
ing at  every  sound ;  once  in  the  garden,  he  stole  igno- 
miniously  along  the  hedge  ;  then  he  sallied  forth  into  the 
road ;  then  he  mounted  his  horse,  and  fled  like  the  wind. 


. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

HOW  SIR   ASINUS    STAKED  HIS    GARTEK8    AGAINST   A   PISTOLE, 
AND   LOST. 

SIR  ASINUS  fled  like  the  wild  huntsman,  although 
there  was  this  slight  difference  between  the  feelings 
of  the  two  characters  : — the  German  myth  was  himself 
the  pursuer,  whereas  Sir  Asinus  imagined  himself  pur- 
sued. 

He  looked  around  anxiously  from  time  to  time,  under 
the  impression  that  his  worthy  friend  and  pedagogue 
was  on  his  heels ;  and  whenever  a  traveller  made  his 
appearance,  he  was  complimented  with  a  scrutiny  from 
the  flying  knight  which  seemed  to  indicate  apprehension 
— the  apprehension  of  being  made  a  prisoner. 

Just  as  Sir  Asinus  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
he  observed  a  chariot  drawn  by  six  milk-white  horses 
approaching  from  a  county  road  which  debouched,  like 
the  highway,  into  Gloucester  street;  and  when  this 
chariot  arrived  opposite,  a  head  was  thrust  through  the 
window,  and  a  good-humored  voice  uttered  the  words : 

"  Give  you  good  day,  my  dear  Tom  !" 

Sir  Asinus  bowed,  with  a  laugh  which  seemed  to  indi- 
cate familiarity  with  the  occupant  of  the  carriage,  and 
said  : 

"  Good  morning,  your  Excellency — a  delightful  day." 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  voice,  "  especially  for  a  race ! 
What  were  you  scampering  from  2  Come  into  the 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  41 

chariot  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  I  am  dying  of  weari- 
ness." 

The  movement  was  soon  accomplished.  His  Excel- 
lency's footman  mounted  the  horse,  and  Sir  Asinus  en- 
tered the  chariot  and  found  himself  opposite  an  elderly 
gentleman,  very  richly  clad,  and  with  a  smiling  and 
rubicund  face  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  love  of  the 
best  living.  This  gentleman  was  Francis  Fauquier, 
Governor  of  his  Majesty's  loyal  colony  of  Virginia;  and 
he  seemed  to  be  no  stranger  to  the  young  man. 

"  Now,  what  was  it  all  about  ?"  asked  the  Governor, 
laughing. 

And  when  our  friend  related  the  mode  of  his  escape 
from  the  worthy  Doctor,  his  Excellency  shook  the  whole 
carriage  in  the  excess  of  his  mirth. 

They  came  thus  to  the  "  Raleigh  Tavern,"  before  the 
door  of  which  the  Governor  stopped  a  moment  to  say  a 
word  to  the  landlord,  who,  cap  in  hand,  listened.  The 
Governor's  conversation,  related  to  a  great  ball  which 
was  to  be  held  in  the  "  Apollo  room "  at  the  Raleigh 
very  soon ;  and  the  chariot  was  delayed  fully  half  an 
hour. 

At  last  it  drove  on,  and  at  the  same  moment  his 
Excellency  inclined  his  head  courteously  to  a  gentleman 
mounted  on  horseback  who  was  passing. 

"  Ah,  worthy  Doctor  Small !"  he  said,  "  a  delightful 
day  for  a  ride  !" 

Sir  Asinus  shrunk  back  into  the  extremest  corner,  and 
cast  an  imploring  look  upon  the  Governor,  who  shook 
with  laughter. 

"  Yes,  yes,  your  Excellency,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  I 


42  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  |    OR, 

have  been  inhaling  this  delightful  May  morning  with 
quite  a  youthful  gusto." 

"  Riding  for  exercise,  Doctor  ?     An  excellent  idea." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  went  a  little  way  into  the  country  to  see 
a  pupil." 

"  You  saw  him  ?" 

"  No,  your  Excellency." 

"  Why,  that  was  very  hard — a  great  reprobate,  I  fear." 

"  No ;  a  wild  young  man  who  has  lately  deserted  his 
Alma  Mater." 

"  A  heinous  offence  !  I  advise  you  to  proceed  against 
him  for  holding  out  in  contumaciam" 

"  Ah !"  said  the  Doctor,  "  we  must  follow  the  old  re- 
ceipt for  cooking  a  hare  in  the  present  instance.  We 
must  first  catch  the  offender." 

And  the  good  Doctor  smiled. 

"  Well,  Doctor,  much  success  to  yon.  Will  you  not 
permit  me  to  convey  you  to  the  college  ?" 

The  hair  upon  Sir  Asinus's  head  stood  up;  then  at 
the  Doctor's  reply  he  breathed  freely  again.  That  reply 
was: 

"  No,  I  thank  you  ;  your  Excellency  is  very  good,  but 
it  is  only  a  step." 

And  the  Doctor  rode  on  with  a  bow. 

Behind  him  rode  Jacques,  who  had  recognised  his 
friend's  horse,  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  through  the  win- 
dow, and  now  regarded  him  with  languid  interest. 

The  chariot  drew  up  at  the  gate  of  the  palace.  A 
liveried  servant  offered  his  arm  to  the  Governor;  and 
passing  along  the  walk  beneath  the  Scotch  lindens  which 
lined  it,  they  entered  the  mansion. 


A   CHKONICLB   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  43 

The  Governor  led  the  way  to  his  study,  passing 
through  two  large  apartmeuts  ornamented  with  globe 
lamps  and  portraits  of  the  King  and  Queen. 

Once  in  his  favorite  leather  chair,  his  Excellency  or- 
dered wine  to  be  brought,  emptied  two  or  three  glasses, 
and  then  receiving  a  pipe  from  a  servant,  lit  it  by  means 
of  a  coal  respectfully  held  in  readiness,  and  commenced 
smoking.  * 

Sir  Asinus  declined  the  pipe  proffered  to  him,  but 
applied  himself  to  the  old  sherry  with  great  gusto — 
much  to  his  Excellency's  satisfaction. 

"  You  were  near  being  discovered,"  said  Fauquier, 
smiling;  "then  you  would  have  been  made  an  exam- 
ple." 

" Ex  gracia  exempli"  said  Sir  Asinus,  emptying  his 
glass,  and  translating  into  the  original  respectfully. 

"  Ah,  you  wild  college  boys !  Now  I  wager  ten  to 
one  that  you  were  not  only  playing  truant  at  Shady- 
nook,  but  making  love.^' 

"  That  is  perfectly  correct,  your  Excellency." 

"See,  I  was  right.  You  are  a  wild  scamp,  Tom. 
Who 's  your  Dulcinea  ?" 

"  I  decline  answering  that  question,  your  Excellency. 
But  my  rival — that  is  different." 

"Well,  your  rival?" 

"  The  dandified  Adonis  with  the  Doctor." 

"  Your  friend,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Bosom  friend ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  having  friends, 
if  we  can't  take  liberties  with  them  ?" 

"As,  courting  their  sweethearts!"  said  his  Excellency, 
who  seemed  to  enjoy  this  sentiment  very  much. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  always  put  my  friends  under  contribution. 


M  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OB, 

They  are  not  fit  for  any  thing  else.  My  rule  is  always 
to  play  off  my  wit  on  friends ;  it  coruscates  more  bril- 
liantly when  we  know  a  man's  foibles." 

"  Good — very  profound !"  said  the  Governor,  laugh- 
ing; "and  I  suppose  the  present  difficulty  arises  from 
the  fact,  that  some  of  these  coruscations,  as  you  call 
them,  played  around  the  person  or  character  of  the  wor- 
thy Doctor  Small  ?" 

"  No,  no,  your  Excellency.  I  left  my  country  for  my 
country's  good — I  mean  the  college.  My  ideas  were  in 
advance  of  the  age." 

"How?" 

"  I  suggested,  in  the  Literary  Society,  the  propriety 
of  throwing  off  the  rule  of  Great  Britain ;  I  drew  up  a 
constitutional  argument  against  the  Established  Church 
in  favor  of  religious  toleration ;  and  I  asserted  in  open 
lecture  that  all  men  were  and  of  right  should  be  equally 
free." 

The  Governor  shook  with  laughter. 

"  Did  you  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  assuming  a  grand  tone. 

"Well,  I  see  now  why  you  left  your  college  for  its 
good ;  this  is  treason,  heresy,  and  barbarism,"  said  the 
Governor,  merrily.  "  Where  has  your  Traitorship  taken 
up  your  residence  ?" 

"  In-Gloucester  street,"  said  Sir  Asinus  ;  "  a  salubri- 
ous and  pleasant  lodging. ' 

"Gloucester  street!  Why,  your  constitutional  civil 
and  religious  emancipation  is  not  complete !" 

"  No,  my  dear  sir — no." 

"  Come  and  live  here  with  me  in  the  palace ;  I  '11  pro- 
tect you  in  your  rights  with  my  guards  and  cannon." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  45 

"No,  your  Excellency,"  said  Sir  Asiims,  laughing. 
"  You  are  the  representative  of  that  great  system  which 
I  oppose.  I  am  afraid  of  the  Greeks  and  their  gifts." 

"  Zounds !  let  me  vindicate  myself.  I  an  opponent  of 
your  ideas !"  cried  the  Governor,  laughing. 

"  You  are  the  representative  of  royalty." 

"  No,  I  am  a  good  Virginian." 

"  You  are  an  admirer  of  the  Established  Church." 

The  Governor  whistled. 

"That 'sit!  "he  said. 

"  You  are  the  front  of  the  aristocracy." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  his  Excellency,  "  ever  since  a 
blackguard  in  Paris  defeated  me  in  a  fair  spadille  com- 
bat— breast  to  breast,  card  to  card,  by  pure  genius — I 
have  been  a  republican.  That  fellow  was  a  canaille, 
but  he  won  fifteen  thousand  pounds  from  me :  he  was 
my  superior.  But  let  us  try  a  game  of  cards,  my  dear 
boy.  How  are  your  pockets  ?" 

"  Low,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  ruefully. 

"Never  mind,"  said  his  Excellency,  whose  whole 
countenance  had  lighted  up  at  the  thought  of  play ;  "  I 
admire  your  garters — a  pistole  against  them." 

"  Done !"  said  Sir  Asinus  with  great  readiness ;  and 
they  sat  down  to  play. 

In  two  hours  Sir  Asinus  was  sitting  at  spadille  in  the 
exceedingly  undress  costume  of  shirt,  pantaloons,  and 
silk  stockings. 

His  coat  was  thrown  on  a  chair ;  his  worsted  shoes 
were  in  one  corner  of  the  room ;  and  his  cocked  hat  lay 
upon  his  waistcoat  at  the  Governor's  feet. 

The  Governor  took  extreme  delight  in  these  practical 
jokes.  He  had  won  these  articles  of  Sir  Asinus's  cloth- 


46  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  J    OK, 

ing  one  after  another ;  and  now  he  was  about  to  com- 
mence with  the  remainder. 

"  Look !  spadille,  the  ace !"  he  cried ;  "  I  have  your 
neckcloth." 

And  his  Excellency  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

Sir  Asinus  slowly  and  sadly  drew  off  his  neckcloth, 
and  deposited  it  on  the  pile. 

"  Good !"  cried  his  Excellency ;  "  now  for  your  short 
clothes !" 

"  No,  no  !"  Sir  Asinus  remonstrated ;  "  now,  your  Ex- 
cellency ! — mercy,  your  Excellency  !  How  would  I  look 
going  through  the  town  of  Williamsburg  breechless  ?" 

"  You  might  go  after  night,"  suggested  his  Excellen- 
cy, generously. 

"  No,  no !" 

"Well,  well,  I'll  be  liberal— my  servant  shall  bring 
you  a  suit  of  clothes  from  your  apartment ;  of  course 
these  are  mine." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Sir  Asinus. 

"  I  '11  play  your  Excellency  this  ring  against  ten  pis- 
toles," he  said ;  "  I  lost  sight  of  it." 

"  Done !"  said  his  Excellency. 

Sir  Asinus  won  the  game ;  and  Fauquier,  with  the 
exemplary  honesty  of  the  confirmed  gambler,  took  ten 
pistoles  from  his  purse  and  handed  them  across  the 
table. 

"  Nine  pieces  for  my  coat  and  the  rest,"  said  Sir 
Asinus  persuasively ;  "  it  is  really  impolite  to  be  play- 
ing with  your  Excellency  in  such  deshabille  as  this." 

"  Willingly,"  said  Fauquier,  shaking  with  merriment. 

And  he  pocketed  the  nine  pistoles  while  Sir  Asinus 
was  making  his  toilet  at  a  Venetian  mirror. 


A    CHRONICLE    OF    COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  47 

They  then  commenced  playing  again — Sir  Asinus 
staking  his  pistole.  He  won,  and  continued  to  win 
until  night ;  when  candles  were  brought,  and  they  com- 
menced again. 

By  ten  o'clock  Sir  Asinus  had  won  fifteen  thousand 
pistoles  from  the  Governor. 

By  midnight  Fauquier,  playing  with  the  nerve  of  a 
great  gambler,  had  won  them  all  back — laughing,  care- 
less, but  not  more  careless  than  when  he  lost. 

At  fifteen  minutes  past  twelve  he  had  won  a  bond  for 
two  hundred  pistoles  from  Sir  Asinus  ;  at  sixteen  minutes 
past  twelve  his-  Excellency  rose,  and  taking  the  cards 
up  with  both  hands,  threw  them  out  of  the  window. 

Then  rolling  up  the  bond  which  Sir  Asinus  had  exe- 
cuted a  moment  before,  he  gracefully  lit  with  it  a  pipe 
which  he  had  just  filled ;  and,  first  telling  a  servant  "  to 
carry  lights  to  the  chamber  next  to  his  own,"  said  to  Sir 
Asinus : 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  have  done  wrong  to-night ;  but  this 
is  my  master  passion.  Cards  have  ruined  me  three 
distinct  times ;  and  if  you  play  you  will  inevitably 
follow  my  example  and  destroy  your  prospects.  Take 
my  advice,  and  never  touch  them.  If  you  have  no  ge- 
nius for  chance,  twelve  months  will  suffice  to  ruin  you. 
If  you  turn  out  a  great  player,  one  half  the  genius  you 
expend  upon  it  will  conquer  a  kingdom  or  found  an 
empire.  If  you  prefer  oxygen  to  air — gamble  1  If  you 
think  aquafortis  healthier  than  water — gamble!  If 
you  consider  fever  and  fire  the  proper  components  of 
your  blood — gamble  !  Take  my  advice,  and  never  touch 
a  card  again — your  bond  is  ashes.  Come,  Tom,  to 
bed!" 


48  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON. 

And  his  Excellency,  laughing  as  good-humoredly  as 
ever,  led  the  way  up  the  broad  staircase,  preceded  by 
a  servant  carrying  a  flambeau. 

Sir  Asinus  found  a  magnificent  apartment  prepared 
for  him — a  velvet  fauteuil,  silk-curtained  bed,  wax 
candles  in  silver  candelabra ;  and  seeing  that  his  guest 
was  comfortably  fixed,  Governor  Fauquier  bade  him 
good  night. 

As  for  Sir  Asinus,  he  retired  without  delay,  and 
dreamed  that  he  ruined  his  Excellency  at  cards  ;  won 
successively  all  his  real  and  personal  estate ;  and  lastly, 
having  staked  a  thousand  pistoles  against  his  commission 
as  Governor,  won  that  also.  Then,  in  his  dream,  he 
rose  in  his  dignity,  lit  his  pipe  with  the  parchment, 
and  made  his  Excellency  a  low  and  generous  bow. 

As  he  did  so,  the  day  dawned. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

0 

JACQUES    BESTOWS    HIS    PATERNAL   ADVICE    UPON   A   SCHOOL- 
GIRL. 

JUST  a  week  after  the  practical  lesson  given  by  his 
Excellency  Governer  Fauquier  to  Sir  Asinus,  and  on 
a  bright  fine  morning,  the  melancholy  Jacques  issued 
from  the  walls  of  his  Alma  Mater,  and  took  his  way  along 
Gloucester  street  toward  the  residence  of  his  friend  and 
rival. 

Jacques  was  dressed  with  unusual  splendor.  His  coat 
was  heavy  with  embroidery— his  waistcoat  a  blooming 
flower-plat,  upon  whose  emerald  background  roses,  mari- 
golds, and  lilies  flaunted  in  their  satin  bravery — and  his 
scarlet  silk  stockings  were  held  up  by  gold-colored  gar- 
ters. His  narrow-edged  cocked  hat  drooped  with  its 
feather  over  his  handsome  features,  and  in  his  delicately 
gloved  hand  he  held  a  slight  cane,  which  from  time  to 
time  he  rested  on  the  point  of  his  high-heeled  shoes, 
bending  the  lithe  twig  with  irreproachable  elegance. 

Not  far  from  the  residence  of  the  rebel  he  encountered 
and  saluted  with  melancholy  courtesy  a  very  lovely 
young  girl  of  about  fifteen,  who  was  tripping  along  to 
school,  a  satchel  full  of  books  upon  her  arm,  and,  cover- 
ing her  bright  locks,  a  sun-bonnet  such  as  school-girls 
wore  at  that  time,  and  indeed  in  our  own  day. 

"Good  morning,  my  dear  Miss  Merryheart,"  said 
3 


50  THE    YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

Jacques,  removing  his  glove  and  holding  out  his  jewelled 
hand. 

The  girl  laughed  artlessly,  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
saying : 

"Good  morning,  sir;  but  yo^  have  mistaken  my 
name." 

"  Mistaken  your  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  it  is  Martha." 

"  And  not  Merryheart ;  but  you  are  not  responsible. 
Merryheart  is  your  real  name — not  Martha,  who  was 
'  cumbered,'  you  know." 

"  But  I  am  l  cumbered,'  "  replied  the  girl  with  a  laugh. 

"  How,  my  dear  madam  ?"  asked  the  courteous  Jacques. 

"  By  my  satchel." 

"  Ah !  let  me  carry  it  for  you." 

"No,  no." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  won't  trouble  you." 

"  No  trouble  in  the  world — I  shall  leave  you  in  a  street 
or  two.  Come !" 

And  he  took  the  satchel,  and  passing  his  cane  through 
the  handles,  gracefully  deposited  it  behind  his  shoulders, 
as  a  beggar  does  his  bundle. 

The  girl  laughed  heartily ;  and  this  seemed  to  afford 
the  melancholy  lover  much  satisfaction. 

"Do  they  teach  laughing  at  the  Keverend  Mrs. 
White's  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Laughing,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  thought  you  had  been  taking  lessons." 

"  Oh,  sir !" 

"  Come !  no  fine-lady  airs.  I  never  compliment — we 
are  too  intimate." 


A    CHRONICLE    OF    COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  51 

And  Jacques  shifted  his  packet  to  the  other  shoulder. 

"  Just  go  to  the  ball  and  laugh  in  that  way,"  he  said, 
"and  you  '11  slay  all  the  hearts  in  a  circle  often  feet." 

The  girl  repeated  the  fatal  ceremony  with  more  energy 
than  ever.  The  street  echoed  with  it. 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  ball,  sir,"  she  said ;  "  Bathurst — you 
know  Bathurst — he  says  he  will  go  with  me." 

"Little  innocent!" 


"  I  was  reflecting,  my  dear  little  friend,"  said  the  mel- 
ancholy Jacques,  "upon  the  superiority  of  your  sex  before 
they  reach  the  age  of  womanhood." 

"How,  sir?" 

"Why,  thus.  Suppose  I  had  addressed  that  question 
to  a  fine  lady — 'Are  you  going  to  the  ball,  madam?' 
— what  would  her  reply  have  been  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  laughed  the  girl,  pushing  back  a  stray 
lock  from  her  forehead. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  continued  Jacques.  "  With  a  negligent 
and  careless  air  she  would  have  said,  '  Really,  sir — I  do 
not  know — I  have  scarcely  made  up  my  mind — if  I  de- 
cide to  go — I  shall  not  go,  however,  I  think — if  I  go,  it 
will  be  with  Mr.  Blank — I  have  half  promised  him ;' 
and  so  forth.  How  wearisome !  You,  on  the  contrary, 
my  little  iriend,  clap  your  hands  and  cry,  '  Oh !  I  am 
going !  Bathurst  says  he  '11  go  with  me !'  Bathurst  is  a 
good  boy ;  is  n't  he  your  sweetheart  ?" 

The  girl  blushed  and  laughed. 

" Xo,  indeed,  sir!"  she  said. 

"  That  is  well ;  choose  some  elderly  admirer,  my  dear 
child— like  myself." 

The  laughter  was  louder  than  ever. 


52  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;   OE, 

"  It  would  n't  do  for  you  to  have  two,"  she  said  with  a 
merry  glance. 

Jacques  recoiled. 
.   "  Every  body  knows  it !"  he  murmured  ruefully. 

"  They  do  so,"  replied  the  merry  girl,  who  caught 
these  half-uttered  words  ;  "  but  she 's  a  very  sweet  lady." 

Jacques  sighed. 

"  Are  you  not  tired,  sir  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  No,  no !  my  dear  child  ;  but  I  believe  I  must  return 
your  little  bulrush  receptacle,  for  yonder  is  my  journey's 
end.  Look,  Sir  Asinus  beholds  us — see !  there  at  the 
window !" 

In  fact,  Sir  Asinus  was  at  his  open  window,  inhaling 
the  bright  May  morning  joyously. 

"  Sir  Asinus  ?  Who  is  he  ?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a  puz- 
zled look. 

"  The  great  rebel,  who  tried  to  assassinate  Doctor  Small 
and  the  Governer.  Have  you  not  heard  of  it  ?" 

«  Oh  no,  indeed,  sir !     Did  he  ?" 

"  Well,  principles  are  men,  they  say ;  and  that  makes 
what  I  said  quite  true.  Look  at  him :  do  n't  he  resemble 
a  murderer  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,  sir ;  I  hardly  know  what  one  looks 
like." 

"  Look  at  his  red  hair." 

"  It  is  red." 

"  And  his  sharp  features." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  He  has  a  real  assassin's  look,  my  dear  little  friend ; 
but  he  is  a  great  thinker.  That  is  the  sort  of  beau  I 
recommend  you  to  get  instead  of  Bathurst." 

The  girl  laughed. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  53 

"  But  Bathurst  is  a  great  deal  handsomer,"  she  said ; 
"  then  he  promised  to  take  me  to  the  ball " 

"  While  Sir  Asinus  has  not  promised." 

"  Oh,  he  would  n't  think  of  me.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  carrying  my  satchel,  sir,"  added  the 
young  girl,'  swinging  it  again  on  her  arm. 

"  Not  at  all.  See  how  Sir  Asinus  is  staring  at  you — 
a  very  ill-bred  fellow !" 

The  young  girl  raised  her  head,  for  they  were  now 
under  the  window  at  which  sat  Sir  Asinus ;  and  she 
found  the  eyes  of  that  gentleman  fixed  upon  her  in  truth 
with  great  pleasure  and  admiration. 

She  laughed  and  blushed,  looking  down  again. 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  melancholy 
Jacques  with  a  paternal  air ;  "  continue  on  your  way,  and 
present  my  most  respectful  regards  to  Mrs.  White  and 
every  body.  Learn  your  lessons,  jump  the  rope,  and 
never  conjugate  the  verb  amo,  amas;  get  a  poodle  dog, 
and  -hideous  china,  and  prepare  yourself  for  the  noble 
state  of  elderly  maidenhood :  so  shall  you  pass  serenely 
through  this  vale  of  tears,  and  be  for  ever  great,  glorious, 
and  happy." 

With  which  friendly  counsel  the  melancholy  Jacques 
sighed  again — possibly  from  the  thought  that  had  he 
followed  the  last  piece  of  advice,  his  mind  had  not  been 
troubled— and  so  bade  his  young  friend  farewell,  and 
mounted  the  staircase  leading  to  the  chamber  of  his  friend. 

As  for  the  young  girl,  she  followed  him  for  a  moment 
with  her  eyes,  and  then  laughing  merrily  continued  her 
way,  swinging  her  satchel  and  humming  an  old  ditty. 
We  shall  meet  with  her  again. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

HOW  8IK  A8INUS  INVENTED  A  NEW  OKDER  OF  PHILOSOPHERS, 
THE   APICIANS. 

SIR  ASINUS  was  clad  as  usual  in  a  rich  suit  of  silk, 
over  which  fell  in  graceful  folds  his  old  faded  dress- 
ing gown.  His  red  hair  was  unpowdered — his  garters 
were  unbuckled,  and  one  of  them  had  fallen  to  the  floor 
— his  feet  were  lazily  thrust  into  ample  slippers  run 
down  deplorably  at  the  heel. 

He  had  been  meditating  strictly  the  unwilling  muse  ; 
for  on  the  table  lay  a  number  of  sheets  of  paper  covered 
with  unfortunate  verses,  which  obstinately  refused  to 
rhyme.  He  seemed  to  have  finally  abandoned  this  occu- 
pation in  despair — flying  for  refuge  to  his  window,  from 
which  he  had  seen  his  friend  coming  down  Gloucester 
street. 

When  Jacques  entered,  he  retained  his  seat  with  an 
appearance  of  great  carelessness,  and  extending  two 
fingers  negligently,  drawled  out : 

"  Good  day,  my  boy.  You  perceive  I  have  banished 
those  ignoble  fears  of  proctors.  I  no  longer  shiver  when 
I  hear  a  footstep  on  the  staircase." 

Jacques  smiled  languidly. 

"  Only  when  you  hear  it  on  the  portico — at  Shady- 
nook  or  elsewhere,"  he  said. 

"  No  more  of  that,  Hal,  an  thou  lovest  me,"  said  Sir 
Asinus  cheerfully.  "The  greatest  men  are  subject  to 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  55 

these  sudden  panics,  and  I  am  no  exception.  Ah! 
what  news  ?" 

Jacques  sat  down  sighing. 

"  None,"  he  said,  "  except  that  we  have  a  new  stu- 
dent at  college — Hoffland  is  his  name,  I  believe — a 
friend  of  Mowbray's  apparently.  Let's  see  your  bad 
verses." 

"  No,  no !"  cried  Sir  Asinus,  rolling  them  up.  "  Mi- 
nerva was  invited,  as  our  friend  Page  used  to  say,  but 
did  not  attend." 

"  That  reminds  me  of  the  ball." 

"Atthe'Kaleigh?"' 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Jacques. 

"This  day  week,  eh?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  every  body  is  discussing  it.  It  will  be 
held  in  the  Apollo " 

"  A  capital  room." 

"  For  a  ball— yes." 

"  For  any  thing — a  meeting  of  conspirators,  or  patriots, 
which  might  amount  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Sir  Asinus. 

"  Well,  will  your  knightship  attend  the  ball  ?" 

"  Of  course." 

"  Pray,  with  whom  ?" 

"  Belle-bouche." 

Jacques  smiled  with  melancholy  triumph. 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"  How  ?" 

"  She  has  engaged  to  go  with  me." 

"  Base  stratagem — unfaithful  friend  !  I  challenge  you 
on  the  spot." 

"Good!     I  accept." 

"  Take  your  foil !"  cried  Sir  Asinus,  starting  up. 


56  .  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

"  Pardon  me,  most  worthy  knight — hand  it  to  me. 
I  can  easily  prick  you  without  rising." 

Sir  Asimis  relented. 

"  Well,  let  us  defer  the  combat,"  he  said ;  "  but  when 
were  you  at  Shadynook — which,  by  the  by,  should  be 
called  Sunnybower?" 

"Yesterday!" 

"  And  maligned  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well — war  to  the  death  in  future.  What  news 
there?" 

"  Philippa  is  gone." 

"  Ah  ?" 

"  Yes ;  she  suddenly  announced  her  intention  some 
days  ago,  and  with  a  nod  to  me,  drove  off  in  her  chariot." 
.  "  A  fine  girl." 

"Why  don't  you  court  her,  if  you  admire  her  so 
much?" 

"My  friend,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  "you  seem  not  to 
understand  that  I  am  '  tangled  by  the  hair  and  fettered 
by  the  eye '  of  Belle-bouche  the  fairy." 

Jacques  sighed. 

"  Then  I  flatter  myself  she  likes  me,"  said  Sir  Asinus, 
caressing  his  red  whiskers  in  embryo.  "  I  am  in  fact 
pledged  exclusively  to  her.  I  can't  espouse  both." 

"  Yanity  !"  said  Jacques  languidly ;  "  but  you  could 
build  a  feudal  castle — a  very  palace — in  the  mountains 
with  Philippa's  money." 

"  There  you  are,  with  your  temptations — try  to  seduce 
me,  a  republican,  into  courtly  extravagance — me,  a 
martyr  to  religious  toleration,  republican  ideas,  and  the 
rights  of  woman !" 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCBAPES.  57 

"  Very  well,  Sir  Asinus,  I  won't  tempt  you  further ; 
but  I  think  it  would  be  cheap  for  you  to  marry  on  any 
terms — if  only  to  extricate  yourself  from  your  present 
difficulties.  Once  married,  you  would  of  course  leave 
college." 

"  Y«s  ;  but  I  wish  to  remain." 

"  What !  in  this  attic  ?" 

"Even  so." 

"A  hermit?" 

"  Who  said  I  was  a  hermit  ?  I  am  surrounded  with 
friends!  Ned  Carter  comes  and  smokes  with  me  until 
my  room  is  one  impervious  fog,  all  the  while  protesting 
undying  friendship,  and  asking  me  to  write  love  verses 
for  him.  Tom  Randolph  is  a  faithful  friend  and  com- 
panion. Stay,  look  at  that  beautiful  suit  of  Mecklenburg 
silk  which  Bell-bouche  admired  so  much — I  saw  she 
did.  Tom  gave  me  that — in  return  for  my  new  suit  of 
embroidered  cloth.  Who  says  human  nature  is  not  dis- 
interested ?" 

"  Cynic !" 

"  Yes,  I  would  be,  were  I  not  a  Stoic." 

"  You  are  neither — you  are  an  Epicurean." 

"  Granted  :  I  am  even  an  Apician." 

"  What's  that  ?     Who  was  Apicius  ?" 

"  There,  now,  you  are  shockingly  ignorant ;  you  really 
don't  know  what  apis  means  in  Sanscrit — bah !" 

" In  Sanscrit?    True  ;  but  in  Latin  it  is " 

"  Bee :  I'll  help  you  out." 

"  Very  well,  you  are  an  Apician,  you  say:  expound  " 

"  Why !  do  I  not  admire  Belle-bouche  ?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Pretty  mouth — that  is  the  translation  ?" 
3* 


58  THE   YOUTH    OF  JEFFEESON  ;    OR, 

"Yes." 

"A  mouth  like  Suckling's  lady-love's — stay,  was  it 
Suckling  ?  Yes  :  Sir  John.  '  Some  bee  had  stung  it 
newly,'  you  know.  Well,  Belle-bouche  has  honey  lips 
— a  beautiful  idea — and  bees  love  honey,  and  I  love 
Belle-bouche :  there 's  the  syllogism,  as  you  tiresome 
logicians  say.  Q.  E.  D.,  I  am  an  Apician  /" 

Jacques  stands  astounded  at  this  gigantic  philological 
joke,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  his  friend,  who  caresses 
his  sandy  whiskers  with  still  greater  self-appreciation. 

"  Now  call  me  Sir  Asinus  any  longer,  if  you  dare  !" 
he  says ;  and  he  begins  chanting  from  the  open  book  : 

"  Saltu  viucit  hinnulos, 
Damas  et  capreolos, 
Super  dromedaries, 
Velox  Madianeos ! 
Dnm  trahit  vehicula 
Multa  cum  sarcinula, 
Illius  mandibula 
Dura  terit  pabula !" 

"  Translate  now  !"  cries  Sir  Asinus,  "  and  bear  testi- 
mony to  my  worth." 

Jacques  takes  the  book  and  reads  over  the  Latin ; 
then  he  extemporizes : 

"  In  running  he  excels 
Doctor  Smalls  and  antelopes ; 
Swift  beyond  the  camels, 
Or  Midianitish  proctors. 
While  he  drags  his  dulness 
In  verse  along  his  pages, 
His  asinarian  jaw-bones 
Make  havoc  with  the  rhymes !  " 


,  A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  59 

Having  modestly  made  this  translation,  Jacques  closes 
the  book  and  rises. 

Sir  Asinus  tears  his  hair,  and  declares  that  his  friend's 
ignorance  of  Latin  is  shocking. 

"  The  ordinary  plea  when  the  rendering  of  disputed 
passages  is  not  to  o.ur  taste,"  says  Jacques.  "  But  I 
must  go.  By  the  by,  the  worthy  Doctor  came  near 
seeing  you  in  the  Governor's  chariot." 

"It  was  more  than  he  dared  to  recognise  me,"  said 
Sir  Asinus  grandly. 

"  Dared,  eh  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  if  he  had  bowed  to  me,  I  should  have 
cut  his  acquaintance.  I  would  have  refused  to  return 
his  salute.  I  carefully  avoided  even  looking  at  him,  to 
spare  -his  feelings." 

"  I  appreciate  your  delicacy,"  said  his  friend ;  "  you 
commenced  your  system  even  at  Shadynook.  Did  you 
win  any  thing  from  Fauquier  ?" 

"  How  did  you  know  we  played  ?" 

"  Why,  returning  past  midnight,  I  saw  lights." 

"Very  well — that  proved  nothing.  We  did  play, 
however,  friend  Jacques,  and  I  lost;  which  gave  his 
Excellency  an  opportunity  to  perform  a  very  graceful 
act.  But  enough.  Before  you  go,  tell  me  whom  you 
were  conversing  with  just  now." 

"  A  maiden,"  said  Jacques. 

"  No !  a  perfect  fairy." 

"  See  the  effect  of  seclusion !  You  are  getting  into 
such  a  state  of  disgust  with  your  books,  that  you  '11  end 
by  espousing  Mother  Bobbery,  you  unfortunate  victim 
of  political  ideas." 


60  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OR, 

"  I  disgusted — /  tired  of  my  books — /  tired,  when  I    . 
have  this  glorious  song  to  sing !" 

And  at  the  top  of  his  voice  Sir  Asinus  chanted : 

"  Aurum  de  Arabia, 
Thus  et  myrrhum  de  Saba, 
Tulit  in  ecclesia 
Virtus  asinaria !" 

"  Excellent  dog  Latin,"  said  Jacques ;  "  and  literally 
translated  it  signifies : 

1  Gold  from  the  Governor, 
Tobacco  from  the  South  Side, 
Asinarian  strategy 
Has  brought  into  his  chambers.' 

That  is  to  say,   asinarian  strategy  has  mad<»   the   at- 
tempt." 

But  Sir  Asinus,  disregarding  these  strictures,  began 
to  sing  the  chorus : 

"  Hez,  Sire  Asne,  car  chantez, 
Belle  bouche  rechignez ; 
Vous  aurez  du  foin  assez, 
Et  de  1'avoine  a  plantez." 

"  Good,"  said  Jacques ;  «  that  signifies  : 

Strike  up,  Sir  Asinus, 
With  your  braying  mouth ; 
Never  fear  for  hay, 
The  crop  of  oats  is  ample.' 

But  on  reflection  the  translation  is  bad — '  belle  bouche 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  61 

is  not  '  braying  mouth ;'  which  reminds  me  that  I  must 
take  my  departure." 

"  Where  are  you  going,  unhappy  profaner  of  ecclesias- 
tical psalmody  ?" 

"  To  see  Belle-bouche,"  sighed  Jacques. 

Sir  Asinus  tore  his  hair. 

"  Then  I'll  go  too,"  he  cried. 

"  I've  the  last  horse  at  the  Raleigh,"  observed  Jacques 
with  melancholy  pleasure.  "  Good  morning,  my  dear 
friend.  Take  care  of  yourself." 

And  leaving  Sir  Asinus  with  a  polite  bow,  Jacques 
went  down  the  staircase.  As  for  Sir  Asinus,  in  the  ex- 
cess of  his  rage  he  sat  down  and  composed  a  whole  canto 
of  an  epic — which  luckily  has  not  descended  to  our  day. 
The  rats  preserved  humanity. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    LUCK     OF    JACQUES. 

T)ELLE-BOUCHE  was  busily  at  work  upon  a  piece 
±J  of  embroidery  when  Jacques  entered  ;  and  this  em- 
broidery was  designed  for  a  fire-screen.  It  represented 
a  parroquet  intensely  crimson,  on  a  background  uni- 
formly emerald ;  and  the  eyes  of  the  melancholy  lover 
dwelt  wistfully  upon  the  snowy  hands  selecting  the  dif- 
ferent colors  from  a  tortoise-shell  work-box  filled  with 
spools  of  silk. 

Belle-bouche  greeted  the  entrance  of  her  admirer 
with  a  frank  smile,  and  held  out  her  hand,  which  poor 
Jacques  pressed  to  his  lips  with  melancholy  pleasure. 

"  I  find  Miss  Belle-bouche  always  engaged  in  some 
graceful  occupation,"  he  said  mournfully ;  "  she  is  either 
reading  the  poets,  or  writing  poetry  herself  in  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow." 

The  beauty  treated  this  well-timed  compliment  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said  ;  "  I  am  only  working  a  screen." 

"  It  is  very  pretty." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes." 

And  then  Jacques  paused ;  his  conversation  as  usual 
dried  up  like  a  fountain  at  midsummer.  He  made  a 
desperate  effort. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  singing  as  I  entered,"  he  said. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  63 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  was,"  smiled  Belle-bouche. 

"  What  music  was  so  happy  ?"  Jacques  sighed. 

Belle-bouche  laughed. 

"  A  child's  song,"  she  said. 

"  Pray  what  ?" 

"  '  Lady  bird,  lady  bird,  fly  away  home.'  " 

"A  most  exquisite  air,"  sighed  Jacques;  "please 
commence  again." 

"  But  I  have  finished." 

"  Then  something  else,  my  dearest  Miss  Belle-bouche  ; 
see  how  unfortunate  I  am — pray  pardon  me." 

"  Willingly,"  said  Belle-bouche,  smiling  with  a  rose- 
ate blush. 

"  I  always  fancy  myself  in  Arcady  when  I  am  near 
you,"  he  said  tenderly. 

"  Why  ?  because  you  find  me  very  idle  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  but  Arcady,  you  know,  was  the  abode  of 
sylvan  queens — dryads  and  oreads  and  naiads,"  said  the 
classic  Jacques  ;  "  and  you  are  like  them." 

"  Like  a  dryad  ?" 

"  They  were  very  beautiful." 

Belle-bouche  blushed  again ;  and  to  conceal  her 
blushes  bent  over  the  screen.  Jacques  sighed. 

"  Chloes  are  dead,  however,"  he  murmured,  "  and 
the  reed  of  Pan  is  still.  The  fanes  of  Arcady  are 
desolate." 

And  having  uttered  this  beautiful  sentiment,  the  mel- 
ancholy Jacques  was  silent. 

"Do  you  like  'My  Arcady?'"  asked  Belle-bouche; 
"  I  think  it  very  pretty." 

"It  is  the  gem  of  music.  Ah  !  to  hear  you  sing  it," 
sighed  poor  Corydon. 


64  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFEESON  ;   OK, 

Belle-bouche  quite  simply  rose,  and  going  to  the  spin 
net,  sat  down  and  played  the  prelude. 

Jacques  listened  with  closed  eyes  and  heaving  bosom. 

"Please  hand  me  the  music,"  said  Belle-bouche ; 
"there  in  the  scarlet  binding." 

Jacques  started  and  obeyed.  As  she  received  it,  the 
young  girl's  hand  touched  his  own,  and  he  uttered  a 
sigh  which  might  have  melted  rocks.  The  reason  was, 
that  Jacques  was  in  love :  we  state  the  fact,  though  it 
has  probably  appeared  before.  ' 

Bell e-bou die's  voice  was  like  liquid  moonlight  and 
melodious  flowers.  Its  melting  involutions  and  expiring 
cadences  unwound  themselves  and  floated  from  her  lips 
like  satin  ribbon  gradually  drawn  out. 

As  for  Jacques,  he  was  in  a  dream ;  one  might  have 
supposed  that  his  nerves  were  steeped  in  the  liquid 
melody — or  at  times,  when  he  started,  that  the  music 
came  over  him  like  a  shower  bath  of  perfume. 

His  sighs  would  have  conciliated  tigers ;  and  when 
she  turned  and  smiled  on  him,  he  almost  staggered. 

"  Now,"  said  Belle-bouche  smiling  softly,  "  suppose  I 
sing  something  a  little  merrier.  You  know  the  minuet 
always  gives  place  to  the  reel." 

Jacques  uttered  an  expiring  assent,  and  Belle-bouche 
commenced  singing  with  her  laughing  voice  the  then 
popular  ditty,  "  Pretty  Betty  Martin,  tip-toe  fine." 

If  her  voice  sighed  before,  it  laughed  out  loudly  now. 
The  joyous  and  exhilarating  music  sparkled,  glittered, 
fell  in  rosy  showers — rattled  like  liquid  diamonds  and 
dry  rain.  It  flashed,  and  glanced,  and  ran — and  stum- 
bling over  itself,  fell  upwards,  showering  back  again  in 
shattered  cadences  and  fiery  foam. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  65 

"When  she  ended,  Jacques  remained  silent,  and  was 
only  waked,  so  to  speak,  by  hearing  his  name  pro- 
nounced. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  random. 

Belle-Bouche  laughed. 

"  You  agree  with  me,  then,  that  my  voice  is  wretch- 
edly out  of  tune  1"  she  said  mischievously. 

Poor  Jacques  only  sighed  and  blushed. 

"  Betty  Martin  was  a  foolish  girl,"  said  Belle-bouche, 
laughing  to  hide  her  embarrassment. 

"  How  ?"  murmured  Jacques. 

Belle-bouche  found  -that  she  was  involved  in  a  delicate 
explanation ;  but  thinking  boldness  the  best,  she  replied : 

"Because  she  could  not  find  just  the  husband  she 
wanted.  You  know  the  song  says  so — '  some  were  too 
coarse  and  some  too  fine.'  " 

"Yes,"  murmured  Jacques;  "and  'tis  often  the  case 
with  us  poor  fellows.  We  seldom  find  the  Chloe  we 
want — she  flies  us  ever  spite  of  our  attempts  to  clasp  her 
to  our  hearts." 

"  That  is  not  because  Chloe  is  fickle,  but  because  Cory- 
don  is  so  difficult  to  please,"  Belle-bouche  replied,  with 
a  sly  little  smile. 

"Ah!  I  am  not!"  he  sighed. 

"  Indeed,  you  are  mistaken ;  I'm  sure  you  are  a  very 
fastidious  shepherd." 

"  No,  no.     True,  I  may  never  find  my  Chloe ;  but 
when  I  do,  then  I  shall  no  longer  be  my  own  master." 
Belle-bouche  hesitated,  blushed,  and  said  quickly : 

"  Perhaps  you  long  to  meet  with  an  angel." 
"  Oh,  no — only  a  woman,"  said  Jacques  j  "  and  if  you 
will  listen,  I  will  describe  my  ideal  in  a  moment." 


66  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  |    OK, 

"  Yes,"  said  Belle-bouche,  looking  away ;  for  his  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  her  with  such  meaning  that  she  could 
not  return  his  gaze. 

"  First,"  said  Corydon,  sighing,  "  she  should  be  young 
— that  is  to  say,  she  should  unite  the  grace  and  inno- 
cence of  childhood  with  the  splendor  and  fascination  of 
the  fully-developed  woman.  This  is  most  often  found 
at  seventeen — therefore  she  should  be  just  seventeen." 

Belle-bouche  was  scarcely  more  than  seventeen,  as  we 
know.  The  cunning  Jacques  went  on. 

"  She  should  be  a  blonde,  with  light  golden  hair,  eyes 
as  azure  as  the  heavens,  and,  as  one  great  poet  said  of 
another,  '  with  a  charming  archness '  in  them." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Belle-bouche,  whom  this  descrip- 
tion suited  perfectly. 

"  Her  voice  should  not  be  loud  and  bold,  her  manner 
careless,"  Jacques  went  on ;  "  but  a  delicious  gentleness, 
and  even  at  times  a  languor,  should  be  diffused  through 
it — diffused  through  voice  and  manner,  as  a  perfume  is 
diffused  through  an  apartment,  invisible,  imperceptible 
almost,  filling  us  with  quiet  pleasure." 

"Quite  a  poetical  description,"  said  Belle-bouche, 
trying  to  laugh. 

"  She  should  be  soft  and  tender — full  of  wondrous 
thoughts,  and  ever  standing  like  a  gracious  angel," 
sighed  the  rapturous  Jacques,  "  to  bless,  console,  and 
comfort  me." 

"Still  prettier,"  said  Belle-bouche,  blushing. 

"  Now  let  me  sum  up,"  said  Jacques.  "  Golden  hair, 
blue  eyes,  a  rosy  face  full  of  childlike  innocence,  at  times 
steeped  in  dewy  languor,  and  those  melting  smiles  which 
sway  us  poor  men  so  powerfully ;  and  lastly,  with  a 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  67 

heart  and  soul  attuned  to  all  exalted  feelings  and 
emotions.  There  is  what  I  look  for — ah,  to  find  her ! 
Better  still  to  dream  she  could  love  me." 

"  Well,  can  you  not  find  your  Chloe  ?"  Belle-bouche 
murmured,  almost  inaudibly. 

"  Never,  I  fear,"  said  Jacques ;  "  or  else,"  he  contin- 
ued with  a  sigh,  "  when  we  do  find  her,  we  always  find 
that  some  other  discoverer  claims  possession." 

Belle-bouche  blushed. 

"  Suppose  it  is  without  the  consent  of  the  aborigines," 
she  said,  attempting  to  laugh. 

Jacques  looked  at  her  ;  then  shook  his  head. 

"  'T  is  the  strong  hand,  not  the  true  heart,  which  con- 
quers." 

V  Oh  no,  it  is  not !"  said  Belle-bouche. 

"What  then?" 

"  The  good,  kind  heart,  faithful  and  sincere." 

Jacques  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  blushing  face,  which 
leaned  upon  one  of  her  fair  hands — the  other  hand  mean- 
while being  an  object  of  deep  interest  to  her  eyes,  cast 
down  toward  it. 

"  And  should  such  a  heart  be  wounded  ?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  no !"  murmured  Belle-bouche,  blushing. 

"  Then  do  not  wound  mine !"  cried  Jacques ;  "  dear- 
est Belle-bouche !  light  of  my  heart — that  was  your 
portrait !  Listen  to  your  faithful " 

Poor,  poor  Jacques !  Fate  played  with  him.  For  at 
the  very  moment  when  he  was  about  to  fall  upon  his 
knees — just  when  his  fate  was  to  be  decided — -just  when 
he  saw  an  Arcadian  picture  spread  before  him,  in  its 
brilliant  hues,  all  love  and  sunshine — that  excellent  old 
lady  Aunt  Wimple  entered,  calmly  smiling,  and  with 


68  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON. 

rustling  silk  and  rattling  key  basket,  dispelled  all  his 
fond  romantic  dreams. 

Belle-bouche  rose  hastily  and  returned  to  her  embroi- 
dery ;  Aunt  Wimple  sat  down  comfortably,  and  com- 
menced a  flood  of  talk  about  the  weather ;  and  Jacques 
fell  back  on  an  ottoman  overcome  with  despair. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  slowly  on  his  way  back  to  town 
— his  arms  hanging  down,  his  head  bent  to  his  breast,  his 
dreamy  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  vacancy. 

Jacques  saw  nothing  around  him ;  Belle-bouche  alone 
was  in  his  vision — Belle-bouche,  who  by  another  chance 
was  snatched  from  him. 

The  odor  of  the  peach  blossoms  seemed  a  weary  sort 
of  odor,  and  the  lark  sang  harshly. 

As  he  passed  through  a  meadow,  he  heard  himself 
saluted  by  name — by  whom  he  knew  not.  He  bowed 
without  looking  at  the  speaker;  he  only  murmured, 
"  One  more  chance  gone."  As  he  passed  the  residence 
of  Sir  Asinus,  he  heard  that  gentleman  laughing  at  him  ; 
he  only  sighed,  "  Belle-bouche !" 


CHAPTEK    X. 

MOWBRAY    OPENS   HIS   HEART  TO   HIS  NEW   FRIEND. 

TNSTEAD  of  following  the  melancholy  Jacques  to  his 
JL  chamber,  let  us  return  to  the  meadow  in  which  he 
had  been  saluted  by  the  invisible  voice.  A  brook  ran 
sparkling  like  a  silver  thread  across  the  emerald  expanse, 
and  along  this  brook  were  sauntering  two  students,  one 
of  whom  had  spoken  to  the  abstracted  lover. 

He  who  had  addressed  Jacques  was  Mowbray ;  the 
other  was  Hoffland,  the  young  student  who  had  just 
arrived  at  Williamsburg. 

Hoffland  is  much  younger  than  his  companion — in- 
deed,  seems  scarcely  to  have  passed  beyond  boyhood ; 
his  stature  is  low,  his  figure  is  slender,  his  hair  flaxen 
and  curling,  his  face  ornamented  "only  with  a  peach-down 
mustache.  He  is  clad  in  a  suit  of  black  richly  embroi- 
dered ;  wraps  a  slight  cloak  around  him  spite  of  the 
warmth  of  the  pleasant  May  afternoon ;  and  his  cocked 
hat,  apparently  too  large  for  him,  droops  over  his  face, 
falling  low  down  upon  his  brow. 

They  walk  on  for  a  moment  in  silence. 

Then  Hoffland  says,  in  a  musical  voice 'like  that  of  a 
boy  before  his  tone  undergoes  the  disagreeable  change 
of  manhood : 

"  You  have  not  said  how  strange  you  thought  this  sud- 
den friendship  I  express,  Mr.  Mowbray,  but  I  am  afraid 
you  think  me  very  strange." 


70  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J    OR, 

"  No,  indeed,"  replies  Mowbray  ;  "  I  know  not  why, 
but  you  have  already  taken  a  strong  hold  upon  me.  Sin- 
gular !  we  are  almost  strangers,  but  I  feel  as  though  I  had 
known  you  all  my  life !" 

"  That  can  scarcely  be,  for  I  am  but  seventeen  or  eigh- 
teen," says  Hoffland  smiling. 

"  A  frank,  true  age.     I  regret  that  I  have  passed  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Ah,  can  you  ask,  Mr.  Hoffland  ?" 

"  Please  do  not  call  me  Mr.  Hoffland.  We  are  friends : 
say  Charles  ;  and  then  I  will  call  you  Ernest.  I  cannot 
unless  you  set  me  the  example." 

"  Ernest  ?     How  did  you  discover  my  name  ?" 

"  Oh !"  said  Hoffland,  somewhat  embarrassed,  "  does 
not  every  body  know  Ernest  Mowbray  ?" 

"  Very  well — as  you  are  determined  to  give  me  com- 
pliments instead  of  reasons,  I  will  not  persist.  Charles 
be  it  then,  but  you  must  call  me  Ernest." 

"Yes,  Ernest." 

The  low  musical  worHs  went  to  his  heart,  and  broke 
down  every  barrier.  They  were  bosom  friends  from  that 
moment,  and  walked  on  in  perfect  confidence. 

"  Why  did  you  regret  your  youth,  Ernest  ?"  said  Hoff- 
land. "  I  thought  young  men  looked  forward  impatiently 
to  their  full  manhood — twenty-five  or  thirty ;  though  I 
do  not,"  he  added  with  a  smile. 

"  They  do ;  but  it  is  only  another  proof  of  the  blind- 
ness of  youth." 

"Is  youth  blind?" 

"Very." 

"How?" 

"  Blind,  because  it  cannot  see  that  all  the  delights  of 


A    CKRONICLE    OF    COLLEGE    SCEAPES.  71 

ambition,  the  victories  of  mind,  the  triumphs  and  suc- 
cesses of  the  brain,  are  .mere  dust  and  ashes  compared 
with  what  it  costs  to  obtain  them — the  innocence  of  the 
heart,  the  illusions  of  its  youthful  hope." 

"  Ah !  are  illusions  to  be  desired  ?" 

"  At  least  they  are  a  sweet  suffering,  a  bitter  delight." 

"  Even  when  one  wakes  from  them  to  find  every  thing 
untrue — despair  alone  left  ?" 

"  You  paint  the  reverse  truly ;  but  still  I  hold  that  the 
happiness  of  life  is  in  what  I  have  styled  illusions.  List- 
en, Charles,"  he  continued,  gazing  kindly  at  the  boy,  who 
turned  away  his  head.  "  Life  is  divided  into  three  portions 
— three  stages,  which  we  must  all  travel  before  we  can 
lie  down  in  that  silent  bed  prepared  for  us  at  our  journey's 
end.  In  the  first,  Youth,  every  thing  is  rosy,  brilliant, 
hopeful ;  life  is  a  dream  of  happiness  which  deadens  the 
senses  with  its  delirious  rapture — deadens  them  so  per- 
fectly that  the  thorns  Youth  treads  on  are  such  no  longer, 
they  are  flowers !  stones  are  as  soft  as  the  emerald  grass, 
and  if  a  mountain  or  a  river  rise  before  it,  all  Youth 
thinks  is,  What  a  beautiful  summit,  or,  How  fair  a  river ! 
and  straightway  it  darts  joyously  up  the  ascent,  or  throws 
itself  laughing  into  the  bright  sparkling  waters.  The 
mountain  and  the  river  are  not  obstacles — they  are 
delights.  Then  comes  the  second  portion  of  life,  Man- 
hood, when  the  obstacles  are  truly  what  they  seem — hard 
to  ascend,  trying  to  swim  over.  Then  comes  Age,  when 
the  sobered  heart  hesitates  long  before  commencing  the 
ascent  or  essaying  the  crossing — when  duty  only  prompts. 
Say  that  duty  is  greater  than  hope,  and  you  are  right ; 
but  say  that  duty  carries  men  as  easily  over  obstacles 
as  joy,  which  loves  those  obstacles,  and  you  are  mistaken. 


72  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEKSON  ;   OK, 

Well,  all  this  prosing  is  meant  to  show  that  the  real 
happiness  of  Itfe  is  in  illusions.  ^Doubtless  you  are  con- 
vinced of  it,  however :  already  one  learns  much  by  the 
time  he  has  reached  eighteen." 

Hoffland  mused. 

Mowbray  drove  away  his  thoughts,  and  said,  smiling 
sadly : 

"  Have  you  ever  loved,  Charles  ?" 

"  Never,"  murmured  the  boy. 

"  That  is  the  master  illusion,"  sighed  Mowbray. 

"  And  is  it  a  happy  one?" 

"  A  painful  happiness." 

These  short  words  were  uttered  with  so  much  sadness, 
that  the  boy  stole  a  look  of  deep  interest  at  his  compan- 
ion's face. 

"  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  Ernest,"  he  said,  "  but 
may  I  ask  you  if  you  have  ever  loved  ?" 

His  head  drooped,  and  he  murmured,  "  Yes." 

"Deeply?" 

"Yes." 

"  Were  you  disappointed  ?" 

"Yes." 

And  there  was  a  long  pause.  They  walked  on  in 
silence. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  afternoon,"  said  Mowbray  at  length. 

"  Lovely,"  murmured  the  boy. 

"  This  stream  is  so  fresh  and  pure — no  bitterness  in 
it." 

"  Is  there  in  love  ?" 

Mowbray  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  raised 
his  head,  and  said  to  his  companion  : 

"  Charles,  listen  !     What  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  may 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  73 

serve  to  place  you  upon  your  guard  against  what  may 
cause  you  great  suffering.  I  know  not  why,  but  I  take  a 
strange  interest  in  you — coming  alone  into  the  great  world 
a  mere  youth  as  you  are,  leaving  in  the  mountains  fronv 
which  you  say  you  come  all  those  friends  whose  counsel 
might  guide  you.  Listen  to  me,  then,  as  to  an  elder 
brother — a  brother  who  has  grown  old  early  in  thought 
and  feeling,  who  at  twenty-five  has  already  lived  half 
the  life  of  man — at  least  in  the  brain  and  heart.  •  Listen. 
I  was  always  impulsive  and  sanguine,  always  proud  and 
self-reliant.  My  father  was  wealthy.  I  was  told  from 
my  boyhood  that  I  was  a  genius — that  I  had  only  to 
extend  rny  hand,  and  the  slaves  of  the  lamp,  as  the 
Orientals  say,  would  drop  into  it  all  the  jewels  of  the 
universe.  Success  in  politics,  poetry,  law,  or  letters — 
the  choice  lay  with  me,  but  the  event  was  certain 
whichever  I  should  select.  Well,  my  father  died — his 
property  was  absorbed  by  his  debts — I  was  left  with  an 
orphan  sister  to  struggle  with  the  world. 

"I  arranged  our  affairs — we  had  a  small  competence 
after  all  debts  were  paid.  We  live  yonder  in  a  small 
cottage,  and  in  half  an  hour  I  shall  be  there.  I  seldom 
take  these  strolls.  Half  my  time  is  study — the  rest, 
work  upon  our  small  plot  of  ground.  This  was  neces- 
sary to  prepare  you  for  what  I  have  to  say. 

"  I  had  never  been  in  love  until  I  was  twenty-four  and 
a  half — that  is  to  say,  half  a  year  ago.  But  one  day  I 
saw  upon  a  race-course  a  young  girl  who  strongly  at- 
tracted my  attention,  and  I  went  home  thinking  of  her. 
I  did  not  know  her  name,  but  I  recognised  in  her  bright, 
frank,  bold  face — it  was  almost  bold — that  clear,  strong 
nature  which  has  ever  had  an  inexpressible  charm  for 
4 


74  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OR, 

me.  I  had  studied  that  strange  volume  called  Woman, 
and  had  easily  found  out  this  fact :  that  the  wildest  and 
most  careless  young  girls  are  often  far  more  delicate, 
feminine,  and  innocent  than  those  whose  eyes  are  always 
demurely  cast  down,  and  whose  lips  arc  drawn  habitu- 
ally into  a  prudish  and  prim  reserve.  Do  you  under- 
stand my  awkward  words  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  quietly. 

"  Well,"  pursued  Mowbray,  "  in  forty-eight  hours  the 
dream  of  my  life  was  to  find  and  woo  that  woman. 
I  instinctively  felt  that  she  would  make  me  supremely 
happy — that  the  void  which  every  man  feels  in  his 
heart,  no  matter  what  his  love  for  relatives  may  be,  could 
be  filled  by  this  young  girl  alone — that  she  would  per- 
fect my  life.  Very  well — now  listen,  Charles." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  became  acquainted  with  her — for  when  did  a  lover 
ever  fail  to  discover  the  place  which  contained  his  mis- 
tress ?— and  I  found  that  this  young  girl  whom  I  had 
fallen  so  deeply  in  love  with  was  a  great  heiress." 

"  Unhappy  chance !"  exclaimed  the  boy ;  "  I  under- 
stand easily  that  this  threw  an  ignoble  obstacle  in  the 
way.  Her  triends " 

"  No — there  you  are  mistaken,  Charles,"  said  Mow- 
bray  ;  "  the  obstacle  was  from  herself." 

"  Did  she  not  love  you  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled  sadly. 

"  You  say  that  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise,"  he  replied; 
"  there  is  scarcely  ground  for  such  astonishment." 

"  I  should  think  any  woman  might  love  you,"  mur- 
mured the  boy. 

Mowbray  smiled  again  as  sadly  as  before,  and  said : 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  75 

"  Well,  I  see  you  are  determined  to  make  me  your 
devoted  friend,  by  reaching  my  heart  through  my  vanity. 
But  let  me  continue.  I  said  that  the  obstacles  in  my  way 
were  not  objections  on  the  part  of  Philippa's  friends — 
that  was  her  name,  Philippa :  do  not  ask  me  more." 

"  Ko,"  said  the  boy. 

"  The  barrier  was  her  own  nature.  I  had  mistaken 
it ;  in  the  height  of  my  pride  I  had  dreamed  that  my 
vision  had  pierced  to  the  bottom  of  her  nature,  to  the 
inmost  recesses  of  her  heart:  I  was  mistaken.  I  had 
gazed  upon  the  woman,  throwing  the  heiress  out  of 
the  question  ;  you  see  I  was  hopelessly  enslaved  by  the 
woman  before  dreaming  of  the  heiress,"  he  added,  with 
a  melancholy  smile. 

Hoffland  made  no  reply. 

"  Now  I  come  to  the  end,  and  I  shall  not  detain  you 
much  longer  from  the  moral.  I  visited  her  repeatedly. 
I  found  more  to  admire  than  I  expected  even — more  to 
be  repelled  by,  however,  than  my  mind  had  prepared 
me  for.  I  found  this  young  girl  with  many  noble  quali- 
ties— but  these  qualities  seemed  to  me  obscured  by  her 
eternal  consciousness  of  riches :  her  suspicion,  in  itself 
an  unwomanly  trait,  was  intense." 

"  Oh,  sir !"  cried  the  boy,  "  but  surely  there  is  some 
excuse !  Of  course,"  he  added,  with  an  effort  to  control 
his  feelings,  "  I  do  not  know  Miss  Philippa,  but  assuredly 
a  young  girl  who  is  cursed  with  great  wealth  must  dis- 
criminate between  those  who  love  her  for  herself  and 
those  who  come  to  woo  her  because  she  is  wealthy.  Oh, 
believe  me,  it  is,  it  must  be  very  painful  to  be  wealthy, 
to  have  to  suspect  and  doubt — to  run  the  hazard  of 
wounding  some  noble  nature,  who  may  be  by  chance 


76  THE  YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON4,    OR, 

among  the  sordid  crowd  who  come  to  kneel  to  her  be- 
cause she  is  an  heiress — who  would  turn  their  backs 
upon  her  were  she  portionless.  Indeed,  we  should  ex- 
cuse much." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray,  "  and  you  defend  the  cause  of 
heiresses  well.  But  let  me  come  back  to  my  narrative. 
The  suspicion  of  this  young  girl  was  immense — as  her 
fortune  was.  That  fortune  chilled  me  whenever  I 
thought  of  it.  I  did  not  want  it.  I  could  have  married 
her — I  had  quite  enough  for  both.  Heaven  decreed 
that  she  should  be  wealthy,  however — that  the  glitter  of 
gold  should  blind  her  heart — that  she  should  suspect  my 
motives.  Do  not  understand  me  to  say  that  she  placed 
any  value  upon  that  wealth  herself.  No  ;  I  believe  she 
despised,  almost  regretted  it :  but  still,  who  can  tell  ? 
At  least  I  love  her  too  much  still  to  hazard  what  may  be 
unjust — ah !  the  cinder  is  not  cold." 

And  Mowbray's  head  drooped.  They  walked  on  in 
silence. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  continued  at  length,  "  I  saw  her 
often.  I  could  not  strangle  my  feelings.  I  loved  her — 
in  spite  of  her  wealth — not  on  account  of  it.  But  gradu- 
ally my  sentiment  moderated :  like  a  whip  of  scorpions, 
this  suspicion  she  felt  struck  me,  wounding  my  heart 
and  inflaming  my  pride.  I  tried  to  stay  away  ;  I  dragged 
through  life  for  a  week  without  seeing  her ;  then,  im- 
pelled by  a  violent  impulse,  I  went  to  her  again,  armed 
with  an  impassible  pride,  and  determined  to  converse 
upon  the  most  indifferent  subjects — to  test  her  nature 
fully,  and — to  make  the  test  complete — bend  all  the 
energies  of  my  mind  to  the  task  of  weighing  her  words, 
her  looks,  her  tones,  that  I  might  make  a  final  decision. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  COLLEGE  SCRAPES.         77 

Well,  she  almost  distinctly  intimated,  fifteen  minutes 
after  our  interview  commenced,  that  I  was  a  fortune- 
hunter  whom  she  regarded  with  a  mixture  of  amusement 
and  contempt." 

"  Oh,  sir !  could  it  have  been  that  you " 

The  boy  stopped. 

"  How  unhappy  she  must  be — to  have  to  suspect  such 
noble  natures  as  your  own,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice. 

Mowbray  turned  away  his  head ;  then  by  a  powerful 
effort  went  on. 

"  You  shall  judge,  Charles,"  he  said  in  a  voice  which 
he  mastered  only  by  a  struggle ;  "  you  shall  say  whether 
I  am  correct  in  my  opinion  of  her  thoughts.  She  asked 
me  plainly  if  I  was  poor ;  to  which  question  I  replied 
with  a  single  word — '  Very.'  ISText,  did  I  hope  to  be- 
come rich  ?  I  did  hope  so.  Her  advice  then  was,  she 
said,  that  I  should  marry  some  heiress,  since  that  was  a 
surer  and  more  rapid  means  than  law  or  politics.  She 
said  it  very  satirically,  and  with  a  glance  which  killed 
my  love " 

"  Oh,  sir !"  the  boy  murmured. 

"  Yes ;  and  though  I  was  calm,  my  face  not  paler,  I 
believe,  than  usual,  I  was  led  to  say  what  I  bitterly  re- 
gret— not  because  it  was  untrue,  for  it  was  not,  rather 
was  it  profoundly  true — but  because  it  might  have  been 
misunderstood.  It  was  disgraceful  to  marry  for  mere 
wealth,  I  said  ;  and  I  added,  '  too  expensive ' — since  un- 
happiness  at  any  price  was  dear.  I  added  that  money 
would  never  purchase  my  own  heart — schoolboy  fashion, 
you  perceive  ;  and  then  I  left  her — never  to  return." 

A  long  silence  followed  these  words.  Mowbray  then 
added  calmly : 


78  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEKSON. 

"  You  deduce  from  this  narrative,  Charles,  one  lesson. 
Never  give  your  affections  to  a  woman  suddenly  ;  never 
make  a  young  girl  whom  you  do  not  know  the  queen  of 
your  heart — the  fountain  of  your  illusions  and  your 
dreams.  The  waking  will  be  unpleasant ;  pray  Heaven 
you  may  never  wake  as  I  have  with  a  mind  which  is 
becoming  sour — a  heart  which  is  learning  to  distrust 
whatever  is  most  fair  in  human  nature.  Let  us  dismiss 
the  subject  now.  I  am  glad  I  felt  this  impulse  to  open 
my  heart  to  you,  a  stranger,  though  a  friend.  We  often 
whisper  into  a  strange  ear  what  our  closest  friends  would 
ask  in  vain.  See,  there  is  his  Excellency's  chariot  with 
its  six  white  horses,  and  look  what  a  graceful  bow  he 
makes  us !" 

Mowbray  walked  on  without  betraying  the  least  evi- 
dence of  emotion.  He  seemed  perfectly  calm. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

HOW  HOFFLAND  FOUND  THAT  HE  HAD  LEFT  HIS  KEY  BEHIND. 

THEY  entered  the  town  in-  silence,  and  both  of  the 
young  men  seemed  busy  with  their  thoughts.  Mow- 
bray's  face  wore  its  habitual  expression  of  collected 
calmness ;  as  to  Hoffland,  he  was  smiling. 

Mowbray  at  last  raised  his  head,  and  chasing  away  his 
thoughts  by  a  strong  effort,  said  to  his  companion : 

"  You  have  no  dormitory  yet,  I  believe — I  mean,  that 
you  are  not  domiciled  at  the  college.  Can  I  assist 
you  2" 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ;  but  I  am  lodged  in  town." 

"Ah?" 

"  Yes  ;  Doctor  Small  procured  permission  for  me." 

"  Where  is  your  room,  Charles  ? — I  shall  come  and 
see  you." 

"  Just  down  there,  somewhere,"  said  Hoffland  dubi- 
ously. 

"  On  Gloucester  street  ?" 

"  No ;  just  around  there,"  replied  the  student,  point- 
ing in  the  direction  of  the  college. 

"  Well,"  said  Mowbray,  "  we  shall  pass  it  on  our  way, 
and  I  will  go  up  and  see  if  you  are  comfortably  fixed. 
I  may  be  able  to  give  you  some  advice — I  am  an  old 
member  of  the  commissary  department." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Hoffland  quickly  ;  "  but  I  be- 
lieve every  thing  is  very  well  arranged." 


80  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OR, 

"  Can  you  judge  ?"  smiled  Mowbray. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Hoffland  said,  turning  away  his  head 
and  laughing ;  "better  than  you  can,  perhaps." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  You  grown  lords  of  the  creation  fancy  you  know  so 
much !"  said  Hoffland. 

Mowbray  caught  the  merry  contagion,  and  smiling, 
said: 

"  Nevertheless,  I  insist  upon  going  to  see  if  my  new 
brother  Charles  is  comfortably  established." 

Hoffland  bit  his  lip. 

"  This  is  the  place,  is  it  not  ?"  asked  Mowbray 

Hoffland  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  replied 
with  an  embarrassed  tone : 

"  Yes — but — let  us  go  on." 

"  No,"  Mowbray  said,  "  I  am  very  obstinate ;  and  as 
Lucy  will  not  expect  me  now  until  tea-time,  I  am  deter- 
mined to  devote  half  an  hour  to  spying  out  your  land. 
Come,  lead  the  way !" 

Hoffland  wrung  his  hands  with  a  nettled  look,  which 
made  him  resemble  a  child  deprived  of  its  plaything. 

"But— "he  said. 

"  Come — you  pique  my  curiosity  ;  go  on,  Charles." 

A  sudden  smile  illumined  the  boy's  face. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "if  you  insist,  so  be  it." 

And  he  led  the  way  up  a  staircase  which  commenced 
just  within  the  open  door  of  the  house.  The  lodging  of 
Sir  Asinus  was  in  one  of  those  buildings  let  out  to  stu- 
dents ;  this  seemed  more  private — Hoffland  alone  dwelt 
here. 

The  student  searched  his  pockets  one  after  the  other. 


A   CHRONICLE  OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  81 

"  Oh  me !"  he  cried,  "  could  I  have  left  my  key  at  the 
college  ?" 

"  Careless !"  said  Mowbray,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  think  I  am  very  unfortunate." 

"  Well,  then,  my  domiciliary  visit  is  rendered  impos- 
sible. Come,  Charles,  another  time !" 

And  Mowbray  descended,  followed  by  the  triumphant 
Hoffland,  who,  whatever  his  motive  might  be,  seemed 
to  rejoice  in  the  accident,  or  the  success  of  his  ruse, 
whichever  the  reader  pleases. 

"  Come !  I  am  just  going  to  see  Warner  Lewis  a 
moment,"  said  Mowbray,  "and  then  I  shall  return  to 
the  '  Raleigh  Tavern,'  get  my  horse,  and  go  to  Rose- 
land " 

"  Roseland  ?     Is  that  your  sister's  home  ?" 

"Yes,  we  live  there — no  one  but  Lucy  and  myself; 
that  is  to  say,  except  one  single  servant  reserved  from 
the  estate." 

"Roseville?"  murmured  Hoffland;  "I  think  I  have 
passed  it." 

"Very  probably  ;  it  is  just  yonder,  beyond  the  woods 
— a  cottage  embosomed  in  trees,  and  with  myriads  of 
roses  around  it,  which  Lucy  takes  great  pleasure  in  cul- 
tivating." 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  know  your  sister,"  said  Hoff- 
land. 

"  Why,  nothing  is  easier :  come  with  me  this  even- 
ing." 

"This  evening?" 

"Why  not?" 

"How  could  I?"  laughed  Hoffland;  "your  house  ia 
4* 


82  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;    OR, 

so  small,  that  without  some  warning  I  should  probably 
incommode  you." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all — we  have  a  very  good  room  for  you. 
You  know  in  Virginia  we  always  keep  the  'guest's 
chamber,'  however  poor  we  are." 

"  Hum !"  said  Hoffland. 

"  Come !"  said  Mowbray. 

Hoffland  began  to  laugh. 

"How  could  I  go?"  he  asked. 

"  Why,  ride." 

"Side?" 
. "  Certainly." 

"  In  what  manner,  pray  ?" 

"  On  horseback,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  I  can  easily  pro- 
cure you  a  horse." 

Hoffland  turned  his  head  aside  to  conceal  his  laughter. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  he  said. 

"  You  refuse  ?" 

"Point-blank." 

Mowbray  looked  at  him. 

"  You  are  a  strange  person,  Charles,"  he  said ;  "  you 
seem  half  man,  half  child — I  might  almost  say  half 
girl." 

"  Oh,  Ernest,  to  hurt  my  feelings  so !"  said  the  boy, 
turning  away  his  face. 

Mowbray  found  himself  reflecting  that  he  had  uttered 
a  very  unkind  speech. 

"  I  only  meant  that  there  was  'a  singular  mixture  of 
character  and  playfulness  in  you,  Charles,"  he  said ; 
"you  are  as  changeable  as  the  wind — and  quite  as 
pleasant  to  my  weary  brow,"  he  added,  with  a  smile; 
"  yoii  smooth  its  wrinkles." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCKAPES.  83 

"I'm  very  glad  I  do,"  said  Iloffland;  "but  do  not 
again  utter  such  unfeeling  words — I  like  a  girl !" 

"  JS"o,  I  will  not — pray  pardon  me,"  replied  Mowbray. 

Homand's  lip  was  puckered  up,  until  it  resembled  a 
rose-leaf  rumpled  by  the  finger  of  a  school-girl. 

"  Then  there  is  another  objection  to  my  going  out  this 
evening,  Ernest,"  he  said :  "  you  see  I  return  to  the  sub- 
ject." 

"What  objection?" 

"You  ought  to  tell  your  sister  what  a  fascinating 
young  man  I  am,  and  put  her  upon  her  guard " 

"  Charles !"  cried  Mowbray,  with  a  strong  disposition 
to  laugh ;  "  you  must  pardon  my  saying  that  your  van- 
ity is  the  most  amusing  I  have  ever  encountered." 

"  Is  it  ?"  asked  Iloffland,  smiling ;  "  but  come,  do  n't 
you  think  me  fascinating?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mowbray,  "  were  I  to  utter 
the  exact  truth,  I  should  say  yes ;  for  I  have  never  yet 
found  myself  so  completely  conciliated  by  a  stranger. 
Just  consider  that  we  have  not  known  each  other  a  week 
yet " 

"But  four  days!"  laughed  Iloffland;  "be  accurate!" 

"  Well,  that  makes  it  all  the  stronger :  we  have  known 
each  other  but  four  days,  and  here  we  are  jesting  with 
every  word — '  Charles '  here,  '  Ernest '  there — as  though 
we  had  been  acquainted  twenty  years." 

"  Such  an  acquaintance  might  be  possible  for  you — it 
is  not  for  me,"  Iloffland  said,  laughing ;  "  but  I  find 
you  very  generous.  You  have  not  added  the  strongest 
evidence  of  my  wayward  familiarity — that  I  advised 
you  to  put  your  sister  on  her  guard  against  my  fascina- 
tions. Let  her  take  care !  Else  shall  she  be  a  love-sick 


84  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON. 

girl — the  most  amusing  spectacle,  I  think,  in  all  the 
world!" 

With  which  words  Hoffland  laughed  so  merrily  and 
with  such  a  musical,  ringing,  contagious  joy,  that  Mow- 
bray's  feeling  of  pique  at  this  unceremonious  allusion  to 
his  sister  passed  away  completely,  and  he  could  not  utter 
a  word. 

They  passed  on  thus  -to  the  college,  conversing  about 
a  thousand  things ;  and  Mowbray  saw  with  the  greatest 
surprise  that  his  companion  possessed  a  mind  of  remark- 
able clearness  and  justness.  His  comments  upon  every 
subject  were  characterized  by  a  laughing  satire  which 
played  around  men  and  things  like  summer  lightning, 
and  by  the  time  they  had  reached  Lord  Botetourt's 
statue,  Mowbray  was  completely  silent.  He  listened. 


CHAPTEE   XII. 

HOW  HOFFLAND   CAUGHT   A  TARTAR   IN  THE   PERSON   OF 
MISS   LUCY'S   LOVER. 

rpHE  day  was  not  to  end  as  quietly  as  Mowbray 
_L  dreamed,  and  we  shall  now  proceed  to  relate  the 
incidents  which  followed  this  conversation. 

Upon  the  smooth-shaven  lawn,  at  various  distances 
from  each  other,  were  stretched  parties  of  students,  who 
either  bent  their  brows  over  volumes  of  Greek  or  Latin 
— or  interchanged  merry  conversation,  which  passed 
around  like  an  elastic  ball — or  leaning  their  heads  upon 
overturned  chairs,  suffered  to  curl  upward  from  their 
lazy  lips  white  wreaths  of  smoke  which  turned  to  floods 
of  gold  in  the  red  sunset,  while  the  calm  pipe-holders 
dreamed  of  that  last  minuet  and  the  blue  eyes  shrining 
it  in  memory,  then  of  the  reel  through  which  she  darted 
with  such  joyous  sparkling  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks — and 
so  went  on  and  dreamed  and  sighed,  then  sighed  and 
dreamed  again.  We  are  compelled  to  add  that  the 
devotees  of  conversation  and  the  dreamers  outnumbered 
the  delvers  into  Greek  and  Latin,  to  a  really  deplorable 
degree. 

It  is  so  difficult  to  study  out  upon  the  grass  which 
May  has  filled  with  flowers — so  very  easy  to  lie  there 
and  idly  talk  or  dream ! 

Through  these  groups  Mowbray  and  his  friend  took 


86  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

their  way,  noticed  only  with  a  careless  glance  by  the 
studious  portion  when  their  shadows  fell  upon  the  open 
volumes — not  at  all  by  the  talkers — and  scarcely  more 
by  the  dreamers,  who  lazily  moved  their  heads  as 
smokers  only  can — with  a  silent  protest,  that  is  to  say, 
at  having  their  reveries  disturbed,  and  being  compelled 
to  take  such  enormous  trouble  and  exertion. 

As  Mowbray  was  about  to  ascend  the  steps  beyond 
the  statue,  a  young  man  came  down  and  greeted  him 
familiarly. 

Mowbray  turned  round  and  said : 

"  Mr.  Denis,  are  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Hoffland  ?" 

And  then  the  new-comer  and  the  young  student  court- 
eously saluted  each  other,  smiled  politely,  and  shook 
hands. 

"  Stay  till  I  come  back,  Charles,"  said  Mowbray ; 
"you  and  Denis  can  chat  uuder  the  tree  yonder — and 
he  will  tell  you  whether  Ros  eland  can  accommodate  a 
guest.  He  has  staid  .with  me  more  than  once." 

With  which  words  Mowbray  passed  on. 

Hoffland  looked  at  his  companion ;  and  a  single 
glance  told  him  all  he  wished  to- know.  Jack  Denis — 
for  he  was  scarcely  known  by  any  other  name — was  an 
open-hearted,  honest,  straight-forward  young  fellow  of 
twenty  f  with  light-brown"  hair,  frank  eyes,  and  a  cordial 
bearing  which  at  once  put  every  body  at  their  ease. 
Still  there  was  a  latent  flash  in  the  eye  which  denoted 
an  excitable  temper — not  seldom  united,  as  the  reader 
must  have  observed,  with  such  a  character. 

The  young  men  strolled  across  to  the  tree  which  Mow- 
bray had  indicated,  and  sat  down  on  a  wicker  seat  which 
was  placed  at  its  foot. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  87 

"  Mr.  Mowbray  said  you  could  tell  me  about  Rose- 
land,"  Hoffland  said,  raising  his  dark  eyes  as  was  his 
habit  beneath  his  low-drooping  hat ;  "  I  am  sure  it  is  a 
pretty  place  from  his  description — is  it  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  beautiful !"  said  Denis  warmly ;  "  you  should 
go  and  see  it." 

"  I  think  I  will." 

"  It  is  not  far,  and  indeed  is  scarcely  half  an  hour's 
ride  from  town — there  to  the  west." 

"  Yes  ;  and  Miss  Lucy  is  very  pretty,  is  she  not  ?" 

Denis  colored  slightly,  and  replied : 

"  I  think  so." 

Hoffland  with  his  quick  eye  discerned  the  slight  color, 
and  said  somewhat  maliciously  : 

"  You  know  her  very  well,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Why,  tolerably,"  said  Denis. 

"  I  must  make  her  acquaintance,"  continued  Hoffland, 
"  for  I  am  sure  from  Mowbray's  description  of  her  she  is 
a  gem.  He  invited  me  to  come  this  evening." 

"You  refused?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  should  not  have  done  so,  sir  :  Mowbray  is  not 
prodigal  of  such  invitations." 

Hoffland  laughed. 

"  But  I  had  a  reason,"  he  said  mischievously. 

".What,  pray— if  I  may  ask  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  you  may  ask,"  Hoffland  replied,  smil- 
ing ;  "  though  it  may  appear  very  vain  to  you — my 
reason." 

"  Hum !"  said  Denis,  not  knowing  what  to  think  of 
his  new  acquaintance,  whose  quizzing  manner,  to  use  the 
technical  word,  did  not  please  him. 


88  THE  YOUTH  OF  JEFFERSON" }   OE, 

"  I  told  Mowbray  very  frankly,  however,  why  I  could 
not  come  this  evening,"  pursued  Hoffland,  with  the  air 
of  one  child  teasing  another ;  "  and  I  think  he  appreci- 
ated my  reason.  I  was  afraid  on  Miss  Lucy's  account." 

"  Afraid !" 

"  Tes." 

"  On  Lucy's  account!" 

"  On  Miss  Lucy's  account,"  said  Hoffland,  empha- 
sizing the  "  Miss." 

"  Oh,  well,  sir,"  said  Denis,  with  a  slight  air  of  cold- 
ness ;  "  I  don't  deny  that  I  was  wrong  in  so  speaking  of 
a  lady,  but  I  don't  see  that  you  had  the  right  to  correct 
me." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Denis,"  said  Hoffland  smiling,  «  you  take 
my  little  speeches  too  seriously." 

"  !No,  sir ;  and  if  I  showed  some  hastiness  of  temper, 
excuse  me — I  believe  it  is  my  failing." 

"  Oh,  really  now !  no  apologies,"  said  Hoffland  laugh- 
ing ;  "  I  am  not  aware  that  you  were  out  of  temper — f 
though  that  is  not  an  unusual  thing  with  men.  And 
now,  having  settled  the  question  of  the  proper  manner 
to  address  or  speak  of  Miss  Lucy,  I  will  go  on  and  tell 
you — as  you  seemed  interested — why  I  did  not  feel  my- 
self at  liberty  to  accept  Mr.  Mowbray's  invitation — or 
Ernest's :  I  call  him  Ernest,  and  he  calls  me  Charles." 

"  You  seem  to  be  well  acquainted  with  him,"  said 
Denis. 

"  Oh,  we  are  sworn  friends ! — of  four  days'  standing." 

Denis  looked  at  his  companion  with  great  curiosity. 

"  Mowbray — the  most  reserved  of  men  in  friendship  !" 
he  muttered. 

"  Ah,"  replied  Hoffland,  whose  quick  ear  caught  these 


A   CHEONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  89 

words ;  "  but  I  am  not  a  common  person,  Mr.  Denis. 
Remember  that." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Denis,  again  betraying  some  coolness 
at  his  companion's  satirical  manner :  his  manner  alone 
was  satirical — the  words,  as  we  may  perceive,  were 
scarcely  so. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Hoffland,  "  and  I  am  an  exception 
to  all  general  rules — just  as  Crichton  was." 

"Crichton?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  admirable  Crichton." 

And  having  uttered  this  conceited  sentence  with  a 
delightful  little  toss  of  the  head,  Hoffland  laughed. 

Denis  merely  inclined  his  head  coldly.  He  was  be- 
coming more  and  more  averse  to  his  companion  every 
moment. 

"  But  we  were  speaking  of  Eoseland,  and  my  reasons 
for  not  accepting  Mowbray's  invitation,"  pursued  Hoff- 
land, smiling ;  "  the  reason  may  surprise  you." 
.  "  Possibly,  if  you  will  tell  me  what  it  is,"  said  Denis. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  I  come 
from  the  mountains,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  did  not  know  it  before,  sir,"  replied  Denis. 

"  Well,  such  at  least  is  the  fact.  Now,  in  the  moun- 
tains, you  know,  the  girls  are  prettier,  and  the  men 
handsomer." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  sort,"  replied  Denis  coldly. 

"  Yery  well,"  Hoffland  replied  ;  "  as  I  have  just  said, 
such  is  nevertheless  the  fact." 

"Indeed,  sir?" 

"  Certainly.  Now  I  am  a  fair  specimen  of  the  moun- 
tain men." 

Denis  looked  at  his  companion  with  an  expression  of 


90  THE    YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;   OR, 

contempt  which  he  could  not  repress.  Hoffland  did  not 
appear  to  observe  it,  but  went  on  in  the  same  quizzing 
tone — for  we  can  find  no  other  word — which  he  had  pre- 
served from  the  commencement  of  the  interview. 

"  Feeling  that  Miss  Lucy  had  probably  not  seen  any 
one  like  myself,"  he  said,  "  I  was  naturally  anxious  that 
her  brother  should  prepare  her." 

"Mr.  Hoffland!" 

"Sir?" 

"  Nothing,  sir !" 

And  Denis  choked  down  his  rising  anger.  Hoffland 
did  not  observe  it,  but  continued  as  coolly  as  ever : 

"  You  know  how  much  curiosity  the  fair  sex  have," 
he  said,  "  and  my  plan  was  for  Mowbray  to  describe  me 
beforehand  to  his  sister — as  I  know  he  will." 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Denis  coldly  ;  "  but  I  do  not 
perceive  your  drift.  Doubtless  it  arises  from  my  stu- 
pidity, but  such  is  the  fact,  to  use  your  favorite  expres- 
sion." 

"  Why,  it  is  much  plainer  than  any  pikestaif,"  Hoff- 
land replied,  laughing ;  "  listen,  and  I  will  explain.  Mow- 
bray  will  return  home  this  evening,  and  after  tea  he  will 
say  to  his  sister,  '  I  have  a  new  friend  at  college,  Lucy — 
the  handsomest,  brightest,  most  amiable  and  fascinating 
youth  I  ever  saw.'  You  see  he  will  call  me  a  '  youth  ;' 
possibly  this  may  excite  Miss  Lucy's  curiosity,  and  she 
will  ask  more  about  me ;  and  then  Mowbray  will  of 
course  expatiate  on  my  various  and  exalted  merits,  as 
every  warm-hearted  man  does  when  he  speaks  of  his 
friends.  Then  Miss  Lucy  will  imagine  for  herself  a  heau 
ideal  of  grace,  elegance,  beauty,  intelligence  and  wit, 
far  more  than  human.  She  will  fall  in  love  with  it — 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  91 

and  then,  when  sh,e  is  hopelessly  entangled  in  this  pas- 
sion for  the  creation  of  her  fancy,  I  will  make  my 
appearance.  Do  you  not  understand  now,  sir  ?" 

Denis  frowned  and  muttered  a  reply  which  it  had 
been  well  for  Hoffland  to  have  heard. 

"  I  think  it  very  plain,"  continued  the  young  man ; 
"  with  all  those  graces  of  mind  and  person  which  a  kind 
Providence  has  bestowed  upon  me,  I  still  feel  that  I 
could  expect  nothing  but  defeat,  contending  with  the 
ideal  of  a  young  girl's  heart.  Oh,  sir,  you  can't  imagine 
how  fanciful  they  are — believe  me,  women  very  seldom 
fall  in  love  with  real  men :  it  is  the  image  of  their 
dreams  which  they  sigh  over  and  long  to  meet.  This  is 
all  that  they  really  love." 

"  Ah  ?"  said  Denis,  in  a  freezing  tone. 

"  Yes,"  Hoffland  said ;  "  and  applying  this  reasoning 
to  the  present  subject,  yo'u  cannot  fail  to  understand  my 
motives  for  refusing  Mowbray's  kind  invitation.  Once 
in  love  with  my  shadow,  Lucy  will  not  fall  in  love  with 
me.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  could  not  afford  to  have 
her " 

"Mr.  Hoffland!" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Denis — did  any  thing  hurt  you  ?  Per- 
haps  " 

"  It  was  nothing,  sir !"  said  Denis,  with  a  flushed 
face. 

"Well,  to  conclude,"  said  Hoffland;  "I  could  not 
accept  Lucy's  love  were  she  to  offer  it  to  me,  and  for 
this  reason  I  have  staid  away.  I  am  myself  fettered  by 
another  object ;  I  could  not  marry  her  were  she  to  fall 
sick  for  love  of  me,  and  beg  me  on  her  knees  to  accept 
her  hand  and  heart — I  really  could  not !" 


V2  THE    YOUTH   OF  JEFFEKSON. 

Denis  rose  as  if  on  springs. 

"Mr.  Hoffland!"  he  said,  "you  have  basely  insulted 
a  young  girl  whom  I  love — the  sister  of  rny  friend — the 
best  and  purest  girl  in  the  world.  By  Heaven,  sir  !  you 
shall  answer  this !  But  for  your  delicate  appearance, 
sir,  I  would  personally  chastise  you  on  the  spot !  But 
you  do  not  escape  me,  sir !  Hold  yourself  in  readiness 
to  receive  a  challenge  from  me  to-morrow  morning, 
sir !" 

"  Mr.  Denis  !"  murmured  Hoffland,  suddenly  turning 
pale  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Refuse  it,  and  I  will  publish  you  as  a  coward  !"  cried 
Denis,  in  a  towering  rage  ;  "  a  poltroon  who  has  insulted 
a  lady  and  refused  to  hold  himself  responsible !" 

With  which  words  Denis  tossed  away ;  and  passing 
through  the  crowd  of  students,  who,  hearing  angry  voices, 
had  risen  to  their  feet,  he  entered  the  college. 

Hoffland  stood  trembling  and  totally  unable  to  reply 
to  the  questions  addressed  to  him  by  the  crowd.  Sud- 
denly he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder  ;  and  raising  his 
eyes  he  saw  Mowbray. 

He  uttered  a  long  sigh  of  relief;  and  drawing  his  hat 
over  his  eyes,  apparently  to  conceal  his  paleness  and 
agitation,  took  his  friend's  arm  and  dragged  him  away. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  all  this  about  ?"  asked  Mow- 
bray. 

"  Oh !"  said  Hoffland,  trying  to  smile,  but  failing 
lamentably,  "  Mr.  Denis  is  going  to  kill  me  !" 

And  Mowbray  felt  that  the  hand,  upon  his  arm  was 
trembling. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

HOFFLAND    MAKES    HIS   WILL. 

¥HE1^  they  had  reached  the  open  street,  and  the 
crowd  of  curious  students  were  no  longer  visible, 
Hoffland,  growing  gradually  calmer,  and  with  faint 
smiles,  related  to  his  companion  what  had  just  occur- 
red ;  that  is  to  say,  in  general  terms — rather  in  substance, 
it  must  be  confessed,  than  in  detail.  Mr.  Denis  and 
himself,  he  said,  had  at  first  commenced  conversing  in  a 
very  friendly  manner ;  the  conversation  had  then  grown 
animated,  and  Mr.  Denis  had  become  somewhat  ex- 
cited ;  then,  at  the  conclusion  of  one  of  his  (Hoffland's) 
observations,  he  had  declared  himself  deeply  offended, 
and  further,  announced  his  intention  of  dispatching  a 
mortal  defiance  to  him  on  the  ensuing  morning. 

Mowbray  in  vain  endeavored  to  arrive  at  the  particu- 
lars of  the  affair.  Hoffland  obstinately  evaded  detailing 
the  cause  of  the  quarrel. 

"  Well,  Charles,"  said  Mowbray,  "  you  are  certainly 
unlucky — to  quarrel  so  quickly  at  college  ;  but " 

"  Was  it  my  fault  ?"  replied  the  boy,  in  a  reproachful 
tone. 

"I  don't  know;  your  relation  is  so  general,  you 
descend  so  little  to  particulars,  that  I  have  not  been  able 
to  form  an  opinion  of  the  amount  of  blame  which  at- 
taches to  each." 


94  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  :    OR, 

"  Blame !"  said  Hoffland.  "  Oh,  Ernest !  you  are  not 
a  true  friend." 

"  Why,  Charles  ?" 

"  You  do  not  espouse  my  part." 

Mowbray  uttered  a  sigh  of  dissatisfaction. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  my  place  is  rather 
yonder,  as  the  friend  and  adviser  of  Denis  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Hoffland,  in  a  hurt  tone,  "  as  you 
please." 

Mowbray  said  calmly : 

"No,  I  will  not  embrace  your  advice  ;  I  will  not 
leave  you,  a  mere  youth,  alone,  to  go  and  range  myself 
on  the  side  of  Denis,  though  we  have  been  intimate 
friends  for  years.  He  has  numbers  of  acquaintances 
and  friends ;  you  could  count  yours  upon  the  fingers  of 
one  hand." 

"  On  the  little  finger  of  one  hand,  say,"  Hoffland 
replied,  regaining  his  good  humor. 

"  Well,"  Mowbray  said  calmly,  "  then  there  is  all  the 
more  reason  for  my  espousing  your  cause — since  you 
hint  that  I  am  the  little  finger." 

"  No,  I  will  promote  you,"  Hoffland  answered,  smil- 
ing ;  "  you  shall  have  this  finger,  one  rank  above  the 
little  finger,  you  see." 

And  he  held  up  his  left  hand,  touching  the  third 
finger. 

Then  the  boy  turned  away  and  laughed  as  merrily  and 
carelessly  as  before  the  disagreeable  events  of  the 
evening. 

Mowbray  looked  at  him  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Youth,  youth !"  he  murmured ;  "  youth,  so  full  ot 
joy  and  lightness — so  careless  and  gay-hearted !  Here 


A   CHRONICLE  OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  95 

is  a  man — of  a  child — who  in  twenty-four  hours  may  be 
lying  cold  in  death  yonder,  and  he  smiles  and  even 
laughs.  Hoffland,"  he  added,  "  let  us  cease  our  discus- 
sions in  relation  to  the  origin  of  this  unhappy  affair,  and 
endeavor  to  decide  upon  the  course  to  be  pursued. 
With  myself  the  matter  stands  thus:  I  have  known 
Denis  for  years ;  he  is  one  of  my  best  friends ;  no  one 
loves  me  more,  I  think " 

"  Except  one,"  said  Hoffland,  laughing. 

"  My  dear  Charles,"  said  Mowbray  seriously,  "  let  us 
speak  gravely.  This  affair  is  serious,  since  it  involves 
two  lives — especially  serious  to  me,  since  it  involves  the 
life  of  a  friend  of  many  years'  standing,  and  no  less  the 
life  of  one  I  have  promised  to  assist,  advise,  and  guide — 
yourself." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hoffland,  with  a  hurt  expression,  "  you 
call  Mr.  Denis  your  friend,  while  I — I  am  only  'one 
you  have  promised  to  advise.'  Ernest,  that  is  cruel ; 
you  have  not  learned  yet  how  sensitive  I  am !" 

And  Hoffland  turned  away. 

"  Really,  I  am  dealing  with  a  child,"  murmured  Mow- 
bray  ;  "let  me  summon  all  my  patience." 

And  he  said  aloud : 

"  My  dear  Hoffland,  I  am  not  one  of  those  men  who 
make  violent  protestations  and  feel  sudden  and  exces- 
sive friendships.  Friendship,  with  me,  is  a  tree  of  slow 
growth ;  and  I  even  now  wonder  at  the  position  you 
have  been  able  to  take  in  my  regard,  upon  such  a  slight 
acquaintance.  There  is  a  frank  word — all  words  be- 
tween friends  should  be  frank.  There,  I  call  you  my 
friend — you  are  such  :  does  that  please  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  much,"  said  Hoffland,  smiling  and  banish- 


96  THE    YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

ing  his  sad  expression  idstantly ;  "  I  know  you  are  the 
noblest  and  most  sincere  of  men." 

And  the  boy  held  out  to  his  companion  a  small  hand, 
which  returned  the  pressure  of  Mowbray's  slightly,  and 
was  then  quietly  withdrawn. 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Mowbray,  "  let  us  come  back  to 
this  affair.  Denis  will  send  you  a  challenge  ?" 

"  He  says  so." 

"  Well ;  then  he  will  keep  his  promise." 

"  Of  course  he  will  act  as  a  man  of  honor  throughout," 
said  Hoffland,  laughing ;  "  I  am  sure  of  that,  because  he 
is  your  friend." 

"Pray  drop  these  polite  speeches,  and  let  us  talk 
plainly." 

"  Very  well,  Ernest ;  but  Denis  is  a  good  fellow,  eh  ?" 
asked  Hoffland,  smiling. 

"Yes." 

"Brave?" 

"Wholly  fearless." 

"  A  good  swordsman  ?" 

"  Very." 

"  And  with  the  pistol  ?"  asked  Hoffland,  laughing. 

"The  best  shot  in  college,"  returned  Mowbray, 
pleased  in  spite  of  himself  at  finding  his  companion  so 
calm  and  smiling. 

Hoffland  placed  his  thumb  absently  upon  his  chin — 
leaned  upon  it,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection  said  in  a 
business  tone : 

"  I  think  I  '11  choose  swords." 

"You  fence?" 

"  I  ?  Why,  my  dear  Ernest,  have  you  never  seen  me 
with  a  foil  in  my  hand  ?" 


A  OHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  97 

"Never." 

"  Indeed  ?  Well,  I  fence  like  the  admirable  Cricliton 
himself.  It  was  some  allusion  to  that  celebrated  gentle- 
man, in  connection  with  myself,  by  the  by,  which  ex-" 
cited  Mr.  Denis's  anger." 

"How,  pray?" 

"  Well,  well,  it  would  embarrass  me  to  explain.  Let 
us  dismiss  Mr.  Cricliton.  My  mind  is  made  up — -I 
choose  short-swords,  for  I  was  always  afraid  of  pistols." 

Mowbray  looked  with  curiosity  at  his  companion. 

"  Afraid  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Hoffland ;  "  you  will  not  be- 
lieve me,  but  I  never  could  fire  a  pistol  or  a  gun  without 
shutting  my  eyes,  and  dropping  it  when  it  went  off!" 

With  which  words  Hoffland  burst  into  laughter. 

Mowbray  saw  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  check  the 
mercurial  humor  of  his  companion.  He  therefore  sup- 
pressed the  smile  which  rose  unconsciously  to  his  lips 
when  Hoffland  laughed  so  merrily,  and  said  gravely  : 

"  Charles,  are  you  prepared  for  a  mortal  duel  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Hoffland,  with  great  simplicity. 

"  Have  you  made  your  will  ?" 

"My  will?  Fie,  Mr.  Lawyer!  Why,  I  am  a  mi- 
nor." 

"  Minors  make  wills,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  and  I  advise 
you,  if  you  are  determined  to  encounter  Mr.  Denis,  to 
make  your  will,  and  put  in  writing  whatever  you  wish 
done." 

"  But  what  have  I  to  leave  to  any  one  ?"  said  Hoff- 
land, affecting  annoyance.     "Ah,  yes!"  he  added,"! 
am  richer  than  I  supposed.     Well,    now,  this  terrible 
affair  may  take  place  before  I  can  make  my  arrange- 
5 


98 


THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON;    OR, 


meiits ;  so  I  will,  with  your  permission,  make  a  nuncu- 
pative will — I  believe  nuncupative  is  the  word,  but  I  am 
not  sure." 

Mowbray  sighed ;  he  found  himself  powerless  before 
this  incorrigible  light-heartedness,  and  had  not  the  reso- 
lution to  check  it.  He  began  to  reflect  wistfully  upon 
the  future:  he  already  saw  that  boyish  face  pale  and 
bloody,  but  still  smiling — that  slender  figure  stretched 
upon  the  earth — a  mere  boy,  dead  before  his  prime. 

Hoffland  went  on,  no  longer  laughing,  but  uttering 
sighs,  and  aflecting  sudden  and  profound  emotion. 

"  This  is  a  serious  thing,  Ernest,"  he  said ;  "  when  a 
man  thinks  of  his  will,  he  stops  laughing.  I  beg  there- 
fore that  you  will  not  laugh,  nor  interrupt  me,  while  I 
dispose  of  the  trifling  property  of  which  I  am  possessed." 

Mowbray  sighed. 

Hoffland  echoed  this  sigh,  and  went  on : 

"  First :  As  I  have  no  family,  and  may  confine  my 
bequests  wholly  to  my  present  dear  companions,  ac- 
quaintances, and  friends — first,  I  leave  my  various  suits 
of  apparel,  which  may  be  found  at  my  lodgings,  to  my 
dear  companions  aforesaid ;  begging  that  they  may  be 
distributed  after  the  following  fashion.  To  the  student 
who  is  observed  to  shed  the  most  tears  when  he  receives 
the  intelligence  of  my  unhappy  decease,  I  give  my  suit 
of  silver  velvet,  with  chased  gold  buttons,  and  silk  em- 
broidery. The  cocked  hat  and  feather,  resetted  shoes 
with  diamond  buckles,  and  the  flowered  satin  waistcoat, 
go  with  this.  Also  six  laced  pocket-handkerchiefs, 
which  I  request  my  dear  tender-hearted  friend  to  use 
on  all  occasions  when  he  thinks  of  me,  to  dry  his  eyes 
with. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  99 

"  Item :  My  fine  suit  of  Mecklenburg  silk,  with  sil- 
ver buttons,  I  give  to  the  friend  who  expresses  in  words 
the  most  poignant  regret.  I  hold  that  tears  are  more 
genuine  than  words,  for  which  reason  the  best  weeper 
has  been  preferred,  and  so  has  received  the  velvet  suit. 
Nevertheless,  the  loudest  lamenter  is  not  unworthy ;  and 
so  I  repeat  that  he  shall  have  the  silk  suit.  If  there  be 
none  who  weep  or  lament  me,  I  direct  that  these  two 
suits  shall  be  given  to  the  janitor  of  the  college,  the  old 
negro  Fairfax,  whose  duty  ever  thereafter  shall  be  to 
praise  and  lament  me. 

"  Second :  I  give  my  twelve  other  suits  of  various 
descriptions,  more  or  less  rich,  to  the  members  of  the 
'Anti-Stamp-Act  League,'  of  which  I  am  a  member. 
This  with  my  love ;  and  I  request  that,  whenever  they 
speak  of  me,  they  may  say,  '  Hoffland,  our  lamented, 
deceased  brother,  was  a  man  of  expanded  political  ideas, 
and  a  true  friend  of  liberty.' 

"  Third :  I  give  all  my  swords,  pistols,  guns,  carbines, 
short  swords,  broad  swords,  poniards,  and  spurs,  to  my 
friend  Mr.  Denis,  who  has  had  the  misfortune  to  kill 
me.  It  is  my  request  that  he  will  not  lament  me,  or 
feel  any  pangs  of  conscience.  So  far  from  dying  with 
the  thought  that  he  has  been  unjust  to  me,  I  declare  that 
his  conduct  has  been  worthy  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard ; 
and  I  desire  that  the  above  implements  of  war  may  be 
used  to  exterminate  even  the  wThole  world,  should  they 
give  him  like  cause  of  quarrel. 

"  Fourth :  I  give  my  books  to  those  I  am  most  inti- 
mately acquainted  with : — my  Elzevir  Horace  to  T. 
Randolph — he  will  find  translations  of  the  best  odes 
upon  the  fly  leaves,  much  better  than  any  he  could  make ; 


100  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J   OK, 

my  Greek  books,  the  Iliad,  Grseca  Minora,  Herodotus, 
etc.,  which  are  almost  entirely  free  from  dog-ears  and 
thumb-marks,  as  I  have  never  opened  them,  I  give  to 
L.  Burwell,  requesting  that  he  will  thenceforth  apply 
himself  to  Greek  in  earnest.  My  Hebrew  books  I 
give  to  Fairfax,  the  janitor,  as  he  is  the  only  one 
in  the  college  who  will  not  pretend  to  understand 
them;  thus,  much  deception  will  be  warded  off  and 
prevented. 

"  Fifth :  I  give  and  bequeath  to  the  gentleman  who 
passed  us  this  afternoon  on  horseback,  and  who  is 
plainly  deep  in  love  with  some  one — I  believe  he  is 
known  as  Mr.  Jacques — I  bequeath  to  him  my  large 
volume  of  love-songs  in  manuscript,  begging  him  to  read 
them  for  his  interest  and  instruction,  and  never,  under 
any  circumstances,  to  copy  them  upon  embossed  paper 
and  send  them  to  his  lady-love,  pretending  that  they  are 
original,  as  I  have  known  many  forlorn  lovers  to  do 
before  this. 

"  Sixth :  I  bequeath  to  Miss  Lucy  Mowbray,  the  sister 
of  my  beloved  friend,  my  manuscript  '  Essay  upon  the 
Art  of  Squeezing  a  Lady's  Hand  ;'  begging  that  she  will 
read  it  attentively,  and  never  suffer  her  hand  to  be 
squeezed  in  any  other  manner  than  that  which  I  have 
therein  pointed  out. 

"  Seventh :  I  bequeath  my  '  Essay  upon  the  Hebrew 
Letter  Aleph'  to  the  College  of  William  and  Mary, 
•  requesting  that  it  shall  be  disposed  of  to  some  scientific 
body  in  Europe,  for  not  less  than  twenty  thousand 
pounds — that  sum  to  be  dedicated  to  the  founding  of  a 
new  professorship — to  be  called  the  Hoffiand  Professor- 
ship for  the  instruction  of  young  men  going  to  woo  their 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  101 

sweethearts.  And  the  professor  shall  in  all  cases  be  a 
woman. 

"  Eighth :  Having  disposed  of  my  personal,  I  now  come 
to  add  a  disposition  also  of  my  invisible  and  more  valu- 
able property  remaining.  I  bequeath  my  memory  to 
the  three  young  ladies  to  whom  I  am  at  present  engaged 
— begging  them  to  deal  charitably  with  what  I  leave 
to  them ;  and  if  harsh  thoughts  ever  rise  in  their  hearts, 
to  remember  how  beautiful  they  are,  and  how  utterly 
impossible  it  was  for  their  poor  friend  to  resist  yielding 
to  that  triple  surpassing  loveliness.  If  this  message  is 
distinctly  communicated  to  them,  they  will  not  be  angry, 
but  ever  after  revere  and  love  my  memory,  as  that  of 
the  truest  and  most  rational  of  men. 

"  Ninth :  I  leave  to  my  executor  a  lock  of  my  hair, 
which  he  shall  carry  ever  after  in  his  bosom — take 
thence  and  kiss  at  least  once  every  day — at  the  same 
time  murmuring,  'Poor  Charles!  he  loved  me  very 
much !' 

"  Tenth,  and  last :  I  bequeath  my  heart  to  Mr.  Ernest 
Mowbray.  I  mean  the  spiritual  portion — my  love. 
And  if  I  should  make  him  my  executor,  I  hereby 
declare  that  clause  ninth  shall  apply  to  him,  and  be 
carried  out  in  full ;  declaring  that  he  may  utter  the 
words  therein  written  with  a  good  conscience;  and 
declaring  further,  that  my  poverty  alone  induces  me 
to  make  him  so  trifling  a  bequest  as  this,  in  the  tenth 
clause  expressed.  Moreover,  he  had  full  possession  of 
it  formerly  during  my  life-time ;  and,  finally,  I  make 
him  my  executor. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Hoffland,  laughing  and  turning 
away  his  head ;  "  a  capital  will,  I  think !" 


102  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEESON. 

Mowbray  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  listened  to  your  jesting  in  silence,  Charles," 
he  said,  "  because  I  thought  it  best  to  let  your  merry 
mood  expend  itself " 

"  I  was  never  graver  in  my  life !" 

"Then  you  were  never  grave  at  all.  Now  let  us 
seriously  consult  about  this  unhappy  affair.  Ah,  duel- 
ling, duelling !  how  wicked,  childish,  illogical,  despotic, 
bloody,  and  at  the  same  time  ludicrous  it  is !  Come,  you 
have  lost  your  key,  you  say — we  cannot  go  to  your  lodg- 
ings :  let  us  find  a  room  in  the  '  Kaleigh,'  and  arrange 
this  most  unhappy  affair.  Come." 

And,  followed  by  Hoffland,  Mowbray  took  his  way 
eadly  toward  the  "  Kaleigh." 


•.,-.-•• 


CHAPTER    XIY. 

HOSTILE     CORRESPONDENCE. 

¥E  regard  it  as  a  very  fortunate  circumstance  that 
the  manuscript  record  of  what  followed,  or  did  not 
follow,  the  events  just  related,  has  been  faithfully  pre- 
served. A  simple  transcription  of  the  papers  will  do 
away  with  the  necessity  of  relating  the  particulars  in 
detail ;  and  so  we  hasten  to  present  the  reader  with  the 
correspondence,  prefacing  it  with  the  observation  that  tne 
affair  kept  the  town  or  city  of  Williamsburg  in  a  state 
of  great  suspense  for  two  whole  days. 

L 

"  MR.  HOFFLAND  : 

"  You  insulted  a  lady  in  my  presence  yesterday  evening,  and  I  de- 
mand from  you  a  retraction  of  all  that  you  uttered.  I  am  not  skilled  in 
writing,  but  you  will  understand  me.  The  friend  who  bears  this  will 
bring  your  answer.  I  am  your  obed't  serv't, 

"  J.  DENIS." 

II. 
"  MR.  DENIS  : 

"  For  you  know  you  begin  '  Mr.  Hoffland !'  as  if  you  said, '  Stand 
and  deliver !' — I  have  read  your  note,  and  I  am  sure  I  shan't  be  able  to 
write  half  as  well.  I  am  so  young  that,  unfortunately,  I  have  never  had 
an  affair,  which  is  a  great  pity,  for  I  would  then  know  how  to  write 
beautiful  long  sentences  that  no  one  could  possibly  fail  to  understand. 
"  You  demand  a  retraction,  your  note  says.  I  do  n't  like  '  demand ' — 


104  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEKSON  ;   OR, 

it 's  such  an  ugly  word,  you  know ;  and  if  you  change  the  letters  slightly, 
it  makes  a  very  bad,  shocking  word,  such  as  is  used  by  profane  young 
men.  Then  '  retraction '  is  so  hard.  For  you  know  I  said  I  was  hand- 
some :  must  I  take  back  that  ?  Then  I  said  that  I  could  not  marry 
the  lady  we  quarrelled  about :  must  I  say  I  can  ?  I  can't  tell  a  story, 
and  I  assure  you  on  my  honor — yes,  Mr.  Denis  !  on  my  sacred  word  of 
honor  as  a  gentleman  ! — that  I  cannot  marry  Lucy ! 

"  You  see  I  can't  take  it  back,  and  if  you  were  to  eat  me  up  I 
could  n't  say  I  did  n't  say  it. 

"  To  think  how  angry  you  were ! 

"  In  haste, 

"  CHARLES  HOFFLAND." 

HI. 

"  MB.  HOFFLAND  : 

"  Your  note  is  not  satisfactory  at  all.     I  did  not  quarrel  with  your 

opinion  of  yourself,  and  you  know  it.    I  was  not  foolish  enough  to  be 

angry  at  your  declaring  that  you  were  engaged  to  some  lady  already. 

You  spoke  of  a  lady  who  is  my  friend,  and  what  you  said  was  insulting. 

"  I  say  again  that  I  am  not  satisfied. 

"  Your  obed't  serv't, 

"  J.  DENIS." 

IV. 

"  MB.  DENIS  : 

"  Stgp ! — I  did  n't  say  I  was  engaged  to  any  lady :  no  misunder- 
standing. Yours  always, 

"  CHABLES  HOFFLAND." 

V. 

"  MB.  HOFFLAND  : 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  note.  You  evade  my  request  for  an  ex- 
planation. I  think,  therefore,  that  the  shortest  way  will  be  to  end  the 
matter  at  once. 

"  The  friend  who  brings  you  this  will  make  all  the  arrangements. 
"  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

"  J.  DENIS." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  105 

YI. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Denis,  to  shoot  me  in  cold  blood !  Well,  never  mind  !  Of 
course  it 's  a  challenge.  But  who  in  the  world  will  be  my  '  friend '  ? 
Please  advise  me.  You  know  Ernest  ought  not  to — decidedly.  He 
likes  you,  and  you  seemed  to  like  Miss  Lucy,  who  must  be  a  very  sweet 
girl  as  she  is  Ernest's  sister.  Therefore,  as  I  have  no  other  friend  but 
Ernest,  I  should  think  we  might  arrange  the  whole  affair  without 
troubling  him.  I  have  been  talking  with  some  people,  and  they  say  I 
have  '  the  choice  of  weapons ' — because  you  challenged  me,  you  know. 
I  would  rather  fight  with  a  sword,  I  think,  than  be  shot,  but  I  think  we 
had  better  have  pistols.  I  therefore  suggest  pistols,  and  I  have  been 
reading  all  about  fighting,  and  can  lay  down  the  rules. 

"1.  The  pistols  shall  be  held  by  the  principals  with  the  muzzles 
down,  not  more  than  six  inches  from  the  right  toe — pointing  that  way, 
I  mean. 

"  2.  The  word  shall  be  '  Fire !  One,  Two,  Three !'  and  if  either  fire 
before  '  one '  or  after  '  three,'  he  shall  be  immediately  killed.  For  you 
know  it  would  be  murder,  and  ours  is  a  gentlemanly  affair  of  honor. 

"  3.  The  survivor,  if  he  is  a  bachelor,  shall  marry  the  wife  of  the  one 
who  falls.  You  are  a  bachelor,  I  believe,  and  so  am  I :  thus  this  will 
not  be  very  hard,  and  for  my  part  I  'm  very  glad ;  I  should  n't  like  to 
marry  a  disconsolate  widow.  I  think  we  could  fight  on  the  college 
green,  and  Dr.  Small  might  have  a  chair  placed  for  him  under  the  big 
tree  to  look  on  from — near  his  door,  you  know. 

>     "  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  CHARLES  HOFFLAND. 


vn. 

"  MR.  HOFFLAND  : 

"  Your  note  is  very  strange.  You  ask  me  to  advise  you  whom  to 
take  as  your  second;  and  then  you  lay  down  rules  which  I  never 
heard  of  before.  I  suppose  a  gentleman  can  right  his  grievances  with- 
out having  to  fight  first  and  marry  afterwards.  What  you  write  is  so 
much  like  joking,  that  I  do  n't  know  what  to  make  of  it.  You  seem  to 
be  very  young  and  inexperienced,  sir,  and  you  say  you  have  no  friend 
but  Mowbray. 

5* 


106  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

"  I  'm  obliged  to  you  for  your  delicacy  about  Mowbray,  but  I  cannot 
take  it  upon  myself  to  advise  anyone  else. — I  hardly  know  how  to  write 
to  you,  for  the  whole  thing  seems  "d  joke  to  you.  If  you  were  jesting  in 
what  you  said,  say  so,  sir,  and  we  can  shake  hands.  I  do  n't 'want  to 
take  your  blood  for  a  joke,  and  especially  as  you  are  a  stranger  here. 

"  Your  obed't  serv't, 

"  J.  DENIS." 


VIII. 

"  Joking,  my  dear  fellow  ?  Of  course  I  was  joking !  Did  you  think 
I  really  was  in  earnest  when  I  said  that  I  was  so  handsome,  and  was  en- 
gaged already,  et  cetera,  and  so  forth,  as  one  of  my  friends  used  to  say  ? 
I  was  jesting !  For  on  my  sacred  word  of  honor,  I  am  not  engaged  to 
any  one — and  yet  I  could  not  marry  Lucy.  I  am  wedded  already — to 
my  own  ideas !  I  am  not  my  own  master— and  yet  I  have  no  mistress ! 

"  But  I  ought  not  to  be  tiring  you  in  this  way.  Why  did  n't  you 
ask  me  if  I  was  joking  at  first  ?  Of  course  I  was !  I  was  laughing  all 
the  time  and  teasing  you.  It 's  enough  to  make  me  die  a-laughing  to 
think  we  were  going  to  murder  each  other  for  joking.  I  was  plaguing 
you !  for  I  saw  at  once  from  what  you  said  that  you  were  hopelessly 

in well,  well !  I  won't  tell  your  secrets. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  CHARLES  HOFFLAND." 


rx. 

"  Ms.  HOFFLAND  : 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  were  joking,  and  I  am  glad  you  have  said  so 
with  manly  courtesy — though  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  you 
wished  to  '  tease '  me.  But  I  do  n't  take  offence,  and  am  sure  the  whole 
matter  was  a  jest.  I  hope  you  will  not  jest  with  me  any  more  upon 
such  a  subject — I  am  very  hasty ;  and  my  experience  has  told  me  that 
most  men  that  fall  in  duels,  are  killed  for  this  very  jesting. 

"  As  to  what  you  say  about  my  admiring  Miss  Mowbray,  it  is  true  in 
some  degree,  and  I  am  not  offended.  As  far  as  my  part  goes,  we  are  as 
good  friends  as  ever.  Yours  truly, 

"  J.  DENIS." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  107 

X. 

"  DEAR  JACK  : 

"  Your  apology  is  perfectly  satisfactory. — But  I  forgot !  I  made 
the  apology  myself!  Well,  it 's  all  the  same,  and  I  am  glad  we  have  n't 
killed  each  other — for  then,  you  know,  we  would  have  been  dead  now. 

"  Come  round  this  evening  to  my  lodging — one  corner  from  Glouces- 
ter street,  by  the  college,  you  know — and  we  '11  empty  a  jolly  bottle,  get 
up  a  game  of  ombre  with  Mowbray,  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Oh !  I 
forgot ! — my  key  has  disappeared  :  I  do  n't  see  it  any  where,  and  so,  to 
my  great  regret,  your  visit  must  be  deferred.  "What  a  pity ! 

"  We  shall  meet  this  evening,  when  we  shall  embrace  each  other — 
figuratively — and  pledge  everlasting  friendship. 

"  Devotedly  till  death, 

"  CHABLES  HOFFLAND." 

•*    --Ttj&r- 

Thus  was  the  great  affair  which  agitated  all  Williams- 
burg  for  more  than  forty-eight  hours  arranged  to  the 
perfect  satisfaction  of  all  parties  :  though  we  must  except 
that  large  and  influential  body  the  quidnuncs,  who,  as 
every  body  knows,  are  never  satisfied  with  any  thing 
which  comes  to  an  end  without  a  catastrophe.  The  cor- 
respondence, as  we  have  seen,  had  been  confined  to  the 
principals,  and  the  only  public  announcement  was  to 
the  effect  that  "  both  gentlemen  were  satisfied  " — which 
we  regard  as  a  very  gratifying  circumstance. 


CHAPTER   XY. 

SENTIMENTS   OF  A  DISAPPOINTED   LOVER   ON  THE   SUBJECT  OF 
WOMEN. 

TTOFFLAND  had  just  met  and  made  friends  with 
XI  Jack  Denis — "  embraced  him  figuratively,"  to  use 
his  expression ;  and  he  and  Mowbray  were  walking 
down  Gloucester  street,  inhaling  the  pleasant  air  of  the 
fine  .morning  joyously. 

Hoffland  was  smiling  as  usual.  Mowbray's  counte- 
nance wore  its  habitual  expression  of  collected  calmness 
— his  clear  eye  as  usual  betrayed  no  emotion  of  any 
description. 

"I  feel  better  than  if  I  was  dead,"  said  Hoffland, 
laughing,  "and  I  know  you  are  glad,  Ernest,, that  I 
am  still  alive." 

"  Sincerely,"  said  Mowbray,  smiling. 

"Wasn't  it  a  good  idea  of  mine  to  carry  on  all  the 
correspondence  ?" 

"  Yes ;  the  result  proves  it  in  this  instance.  I  thought 
that  I  could  arrange  the  unhappy  affair,  but  I  believe 
you  were  right  in  taking  it  out  of  my  hands — or  rather, 
in  never  delivering  it  to  me.  Well,  I  am  delighted 
that  it  is  over.  I  could  ill  spare  you  or  Denis;  and 
God  forbid  that  you  should  ever  fall  victims  to  this 
barbarous  child's  play,  duelling." 

"Ah!  my  dear  fellow,"  replied  Hoffland,  "we  men 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  109 

must  have  some  tribunal  above  the  courts  of  law ;  and 
then  you  know  the  women  dote  upon  a  duellist. 

"  Yes,  Hoffland,  as  they  dote  upon  an  interesting 
monstrosity — the  worse  portion.  Women  admire  cour- 
age, because  it  is  the  quality  they  lack — I  mean  animal 
courage,  the  mere  faculty  of  looking  into  a  pistol-muzzle 
calmly ;  and  their  admiration  is  so  great  that  they  are 
carried  away  by  it.  They  admire  in  the  same  way  a 
gay  wild  fellow;  they  do  not  dislike  even  a  'poor 
fellow — ah!  very  dissipated!'  and  this  arises  from  the 
fact  that  they  admire  decided  '  character '  of  any  de- 
scription, more  than  the  want  of  character — even  when 
the  possessor  of  character  is  led  into  vice  by  it." 

"A  great  injustice! — a  deep  injustice!"  said  Hoff- 
land ;  "I  wonder  how  you  can  say  so  1" 

"  I  can  say  so  because  I  believe  it  to  be  true — nay,  I 
know  it." 

"  Conceited ! — you  know  women  indeed  !" 

"  Not  even  remotely ;  but  listen.  I  was  about  to  add 
that  women  admire  reckless  courage  and  excessive  animal 
spirits.  But  let  that  courage  lead  a  man  to  shed  an- 
other's blood  for  a  jest,  or  let  that  animal  spirit  draw 
a  man  into  degrading  and  bestial  advice — presto!  they 
leave  him !" 

"  And  they  are  right !" 

"  Certainly." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  But  they  are  not  the  less  wrong  at  first :  the  impor- 
tance they  attach  to  courage  leads  many  boys  and 
young  men  into  murderous  affrays — -just  as  their  satirical 
comments  upon  'milky  dispositions'  lead  thousands  into 
vice." 


110  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

"Oh,  Ernest!" 

"Do  you  deny  it?" 

"Wholly." 

"Well,  that  only  proves  to  me  once  more  that  you 
know  nothing  of  women." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Hoffland,  smiling. 

"  Yes  :  what  I  have  said  is  the  tritest  truth.  That 
women  admire  these  qualities  excessively,  and  that  men, 
especially  young  men,  shape  their  conduct  by  this  femi- 
nine feeling,  is  as  true  as  that  sunlight." 

"  I  deny  it." 

"  Very  well ;  that  proves  further,  Charles,  that  you 
have  not  observed  and  studied  much." 

"  Have  you  ?" 

"  Extensively." 

"  And  you  are  a  great  master  in  the  wiles  of  women 
by  this  time,  I  suppose,"  said  Hoffland  satirically. 

"No,  you  misunderstand  me,"  replied  Mowbray, 
without  observing  the  boy's  smile.  "  I  never  shall  pre- 
tend to  understand  women  ;  but  I  can  use  my  eyes,  and 
I  can  read  the  open  page  before  me." 

"  The  open  page  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  that  the  history  of  the  modern  world,  the 
social  history,  has  a  great  key-note — is  a  maze  unless 
you  keep  constantly  in  view  the  existence  of  this  ele- 
ment— woman." 

"I  should  say  it  was :  we  could  not  well  get  on  with- 
out them." 

"  The  middle  age  originated  the  present  deification  of 
woman,"  continued  Mowbray  philosophically,  "  and  the 
old  knights  left  us  the  legacy.  We  have  long  ago  dis- 
carded for  its  opposite  the  scriptural  doctrine  that 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  Ill 

the  man  is  not  of  the  woman,  but  the  woman  of  the 
man;  and  we  justify  ourselves  by  the  strange  plea, 
'  they  are  so  weak.' " 

"  Well,  are  they  not  ?" 

"  Woman  weak  ?  Poor  Charles !  Parliaments,  inqui- 
sitions, secret  tribunals  and  executioners'  axes  are  straws 
compared  to  them.  They  smile,  and  man  kneels  ;  they 
weep,  and  his  moral  judgment  is  effaced  like  a  shadow : 
he  is  soft  clay  in  their  hands.  One  caress  from  a  girl 
makes  a  fool  of  a  giant.  Have  you  read  the  history  of 
Samson  ?" 

"  Yile  misogynist  1"  said  Hoffland,  "  you  are  really  too 
bad !" 

Howbray  smiled  sadly. 

"  Do  not  understand  me  to  say  that  we  should  return 
to  barbarous  times,  and  make  the  women  labor  and 
carry  burdens,  while  we  the  men  lounge  in  the  sun  and 
dream,"  he  said  ;  "  not  at  all.  All  honor  to  the  middle 
age  !  The  knight  raised  up  woman,  and  she  made  him 
a  reproachless  chevalier  in  return ;  but  it  did  not  end 
there.  He  must  needs  do  more — he  loved,  and  love  is 
so  strong !  Divine  love  is  strongest — he  must  deify  her." 

"  You  are  a  great  student,  forsooth !" 

"  Deny  it  if  you  can ;  but  you  cannot,  Charles.  The 
central  idea  of  the  middle  age — the  age  of  chivalry — is 
woman.  That  word  interprets  all ;  it  is  the  open  sesame 
which  throws  wide  the  portals.  Without  it,  that  whole 
era  is  a  mere  jumble  of  bewildering  anomalies — events 
without  causes — actions  without  motives.  Well,  see 
how  truly  we  are  the  descendants  of  those  knights.  To 
this  day  our  social  god  is  woman." 
"  Scoffer !" 


112  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OB, 

"No  ;  what  I  say  is  more  in  sorrow  than  anger.  It 
will  impede  our  national  and  spiritual  growth,  for  I  de- 
clare to  you  that  one  hundred  years  hence,  women  in 
my  opinion  will  not  be  satisfied  with  this  poetic  and 
chivalric  homage :  they  will  demand  a  voice  in  the 
government.  They  will  grow  bolder,  and  learn  to  re- 
gard these  chivalric  concessions  to  their  purity  and 
weakness  as  their  natural  rights.  Woman's  rights ! — 
that  will  be  their  watchword." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  would  say  they  have  no  rights." 

"  Oh,  many.  Among  others,  the  right  to  shape  the 
characters  and  opinions  of  their  infant  children,"  said 
Mowbray  with  a  grave  smile. 

"  And  no  more,  sir  ?" 

"  Far  more ;  but  this  discussion  is  unprofitable.  What 
I  mean  is  simply  this,  Charles :  that  the  middle  age  has 
left  us  a  national  idea  which  is  dangerous — the  idea  that 
woman  should,  from  her  very  weakness,  rule  and  direct ; 
especially  among  us  gentlemen  who  hold  by  the  tra- 
ditions of  the  past — who  reject  Sir  Galahad,  and  cling 
to  Orlando  and  Amadis — who  grow  mad  and  fall  down 
worshipping  and  kissing  the  feet  of  woman — happy  even 
to  be  spurned  by  her." 

"  Keally,  sir  ! — but  your  conversation  is  very  instruc- 
tive !  Who,  pray,  was  Sir  Galahad  ? — for  I  have  read 
Ariosto,  and  know  about  Orlando." 

"  Sir  Galahad  is  that  myth  of  the  middle  age,  Charles, 
who  went  about  searching  for  the  holy  Graal — the  cup 
which  our  Saviour  drank  from  in  his  last  supper ;  which 
Joseph  of  Arimathea  collected  his  precious  blood  in. 
You  will  understand  that  I  merely  repeat  the  monkish 
tradition." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  113 

"  Well,  what  sort  of  a  knight  was  this  Sir  Galahad ; 
and  why  do  you  hold  him  up  as  superior  to  Orlando  and 
Amadis?" 

"  Because  he  saw  the  true  course,  and  loved  woman 
as  an  earthly  consoler,  did  not  adore  her  as  a  god.  Head 
how  he  fought  and  suffered  many  things  for  women ; 
see  how  profoundly  he  loved  them,  and  smiled  when- 
ever they  crossed  his  path  ;  how  his  whole  strength  and 
every  thing  was  woman's.  Was  she  oppressed?  Did 
brute  strength  band  itself  against  her?  His.chivalric 
arm  was  thrown  around  her.  Was  she  threatened  with 
shame,  or  hatred  and  wrong  ?  His  heart,  his  sword,  all 
were  hers,  and  he  would  as  willingly  pour  out  his  blood 
for  her  as  wander  on  a  sunny  morning  over  flowery 
fields." 

"  Well,"  said  Hoffland,  "  he  was  a  true  knight.  Have 
you  not  finished  ?" 

"By  no  means.  With  love  for  and  readiness  to  pro- 
tect the  weak  and  oppressed  woman — with  satisfaction 
in  her  smiles,  and  rejoicing  in  the  thanks  she  gave  him 
— the  good  knight's  feelings  ended.  He  would  not  give 
her  his  heart  and  adore  her — he  knelt  only  to  his  God. 
He  refused  to  place  his  arm  at  her  disposal  in  all  things, 
and  so  become  the  tool  of  her  caprice;  he  would  not 
sell  himself  for  a  caress,  and  hold  his  hands  out  to  be 
fettered,  when  she  smiled  and  offered  him  an  embrace. 
A  child  before  God,  and  led  by  a  grand  thought,  he 
would  not  become  a  child  before  woman,  and  be  di- 
rected by  her  idle  fancies.  He  was  the  '  knight  of  God,' 
not  of  woman ;  and  he  grasped  the  prize." 

Hoffland  listened  to  these  earnest  words  more  thought- 
fully. 


114  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  so  Sir  Galahad  is  your  model— not 
the  mad  worshipper  of  woman,  Orlando  ?" 

"  A  thousand  times." 

"  Ah !  we  have  neither  now." 

"  We  have  no  Galahads,  for  woman  has  grown  stronger 
even  than  in  the  old  days.  She  would  not  tolerate  a 
lover  who  espoused  her  cause  from  duty :  she  wants 
adoring  worship." 

"  No!  no  ! — only  love !"  said  Hoffland. 

"  A  mistake,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  she  does  not  wish  a 
mere  knightly  respect  and  love — that  of  the  real  knight ; 
she  demands  an  Amadis,  to  grow  mad  for  her — to  be 
crazed  by  her  beauty,  and  kneel  down  and  sell  himself 
for  a  kiss.  She  wishes  power,  and  scouts  the  mere 
chivalric  smile  and  homage.  She  claims  and  exacts  the 
fullest  obedience,  and  her  claim  is  pronounced  just.  She 
says  to-day — returning  to  what  we  commenced  with — 
she  says,  '  Go  and  murder  that  man :  he  has  uttered  a 
jest ;'  or,  '  On  penalty  of  my  pity  and  contempt,  make 
yourself  the  slave  of  my  caprice,  and  kill  your  friend, 
who  has  said  laughing  that  I  am  not  an  angel.'  The 
unhappy  part  of  all  this  is,"  said  Mowbray,  "  that  the 
men,  especially  young  men,  obey.  And  then,  when  the 
blood  is  poured  out,  the  tragedy  consummated ;  when 
the  body  which  was  a  breathing  man  is  taken  from  the 
bloody  grass  where  it  lies  like  a  wounded  bird,  its  heart- 
blood  welling  out — when  it  is"  borne  cold  and  pale  before 
her,  and  the  mother,  sister,  daughter  wail  and  moan — 
then  the  beautiful  goddess  who  has  gotten  up  this  little 
drama  for  her  amusement,  finds  her  false  philosophy 
broken  in  her  breast,  her  deity  overthrown,  her  supreme 
resolution  crushed  in  presence  of  this  terrible  spectacle ; 


A   CHRONICLE  OP  COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  115 

and  she  wrings  her  hands,  and  sobs  and  cries  out  at  the 
evil  she  has  done ;  but  cries  much  louder,  that  the  hearts 
of  men  are  horrible  and  bloody ;  that  their  instincts  are 
barbarous  and  terrible ;  that  she  alone  is  tender  and  soft- 
hearted and  forgiving  ;  that  she  would  never  have 
plunged  the  sword  into  the  bosom,  or  sent  the  ball  tear- 
ing its  way  through  the  heart ;  that  man  alone  is  horrible 
and  cruel  and  depraved ;  that  she  is  noble  and  pure- 
hearted,  true  and  innocent ;  that  woman  is  above  this 
miserable  humanity — great  like  Diana  of  the  Ephesians, 
pure  and  strong  and  immaculate — without  reproach ! 
That  is  a  tolerably  accurate  history  of  most  duels,"  added 
Mowbray  coldly ;  "  you  will  not  deny  it." 

Hoffland  made  no  reply. 

"  You  will  not  deny  it  because  it  is  true,"  said  Mow- 
bray  ;  "  it  is  what  every  man  knows  and  feels  and  sees. 
You  think  it  strange,  then,  that  they  act  as  they  do,  in 
this  perfect  subservience  to  woman,  knowing  what  I  have 
said  is  true.  It  is  not  more  strange  than  any  other 
ludicrous  inconsequence  which  men  are  guilty  of.  Look 
at  me !  I  know  that  what  I  have  said  is  as  true  as  the 
existence  of  this  earth  ;  and  now,  what  would  I  do  ?  I 
will  tell  you.  Were  I  in  love  with  a  woman,  I  would 
make  myself  a  child,  and  adore  her,  and  sell  my  soul  for 
her  caresses  ;  and  make  my  brain  the  tool  of  my  infatua- 
tion by  yielding  to  her  false,  fatal  sophistry,  because  that 
sophistry  would  be  uttered  by  red  lips,  and  would  be- 
come truth  in  the  dazzling  light  of  her  seductive  smiles. 
Do  you  expect  me,  because  I  know  it  is  all  a  lie,  to  resist 
sighs  and  murmurs,  and  those  languid  glances,  which 
women  employ  to  gain  their  ends  ?  If  you  wish  me  to 
resist  them,  give  me  a  lump  of  ice  instead  of  a  heart — a 


116  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

freezing  stream  instead  of  a  warm  current  in  my  veins — 
make  me  a  thinking  machine,  all  brain ;  but  take  care 
how  you  leave  one  particle  of  the  man  !  That  particle 
will  fire  all ;  for  the  age  tells  me  that  woman  is  all  pure, 
all-knowing,  all  true — bow  can  I  go  astray  ?  I  am  not 
a  machine — the  atmosphere  of  that  old  woman-worship- 
ping world  has  nourished  me,  because  I  breathe  it  now  ; 
and  if  the  woman  I  loved  madly  wished  a  little  murder 
enacted  for  the  benefit  of  her  enemies,  why,  I  cannot, 
dare  not  say,  I  would  not  go  and  murder  for  her,  think- 
ing I  was  serving  nothing  but  the  cause  of  purity  and 
justice." 

Hoffiand  listened  to  these  coldly  uttered  words  with 
some  agitation,  but  made  no  reply.  They  walked  on  for 
some  moments  in  silence,  and  Mowbray  then  said  : 

"  The  discussion  is  getting  too  grave,  Charles ;  and  I 
am  afraid  I  have  spoken  very  harshly  of  women — led 
away  in  the  discussion  of  this  subject.  But  remember 
that  most  of  these  unhappy  affairs  indirectly  arise  from 
this  fatal  philosophy ;  and  I  have  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  present  one,  which  has  so  nearly  taken  from  me  one 
or  both  of  my  dearest  friends,  orginated  indirectly  in 
such  a  source.  Do  not  understand  me  as  undervaluing 
the  fine  old  chivalrous  devotion  to  women :  the  hard 
task  is  for  me  to  believe  that  any  devotion  to  a  good 
and  pure  woman  is  exaggerated.  They  are  above  us, 
Charles,  in  all  the  finer  and  nobler  traits,  and  we  are  re- 
sponsible for  this  weakness  in  them.  What  wonder  if 
they  believed  us  when  we  told  them  that  they  were  more 
than  human,  something  angelic  ?  Their  duty  was  to  lis- 
ten to  us,  and  act  by  our  judgment ;  and  when  we  have 
told  them  now  for  ages  that  our  place  is  at  their  feet,  the 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  117 

hem  of  their  garments  for  our  lips,  their  smiles  brighter 
than  the  sunshine  of  heaven,  should  we  feel  surprise  at 
their  acquiescing  in  our  dicta,  and  assuming  the  enor- 
mous social  influence  which  we  yield  to  them,  beg  them 
upon  our  knees  to  take  ?  For  my  part,  I  rejoice  that 
man  has  not  a  power  as  unlimited ;  and  if  one  sex  must 
rule,  spite  of  every  thing,  I  am  almost  ready  to  give  up 
to  the  women.  They  go  right  oftener  ;  and  if  this  tyr- 
anny must  really  exist,  I  know  not  that  Providence  has 
not  mercifully  placed  the  sceptre  in  her  hands.  See  where 
all  my  great  philosophy  ends — I  can't  help  loving  while 
I  speak  against  them.  The  sneer  upon  my  lips  turns  to 
a  smile — -my  indignation  to  good-humor.  Oh,  Charles ! 
Charles  !  right  or  wrong,  they  rule  us ;  and  if  we  must 
have  sexual  tyranny,  it  is  best  in  the  hands  of  mothers". 
But  rather  let  us  have  no  tyranny  at  all :  let  the  man 
take  his  place  as  lord  without,  the  woman  her  sovereignty 
over  the  inner  world.  Let  her  grace  perfect  his  strength  ; 
her  bosom  hold  his  rude  head  and  dusty  brow  ;  let  her 
heart  crown  his  intellect — each  fill  the  void  in  each. 
Yain  thought,  I  am  afraid ;  and  this,  I  fear,  is  scarcely 
more  than  dreaming.  Let  us  leave  the  subject." 

And  Mowbray  sighed ;  nodding,  as  he  passed  on,  to  a 
young  gentleman  on  horseback.     This  was  Jacques. 


CHAPTEK    XYI. 

«BW 

ADVANCE   OF  THE   ENEMY   UPON    SIR   ASINU8. 

TNSTEAD  of  listening  further  to  the  conversation  of 
JL  Mowbray  and  Hoffland,  let  us  follow  Jacques,  who, 
mounted  as  we  have  seen  on  a  beautiful  horse,  is  gaily 
passing  down  the  street. 

Jacques  is  clad  as  usual  like  a  lily  of  the  field,  with 
something  of  the  tulip ;  he  hums  a  melancholy  love  song 
of  his  own  composition,  not  having  yet  come  into  pos- 
session of  Hoffland's  legacy ;  he  smiles  and  sighs,  and 
after  some  hesitation,  draws  rein  before  the  domicile  of 
our  friend  Sir  Asinus,  and  dismounting,  ascends  to  the 
apartment  of  that  great  political  martyr. 

Sir  Asinus  was  sitting  in  an  easy  chair  tuning  a  vio- 
lin ;  his  pointed  features  wearing  their  usual  expression 
of  cynical  humor,  and  his  dress  wofully  negligent. 

He  had  been  making  a  light  repast  upon  crackers  and 
wine,  and  on  the  floor  lay  a  tobacco  pipe  with  an  exceed- 
ingly dirty  reed  stem,  which  Jacques,  with  his  usual  bad 
fortune,  trod  upon  and  reduced  to  a  bundle  of  splinters. 

"  There !"  cried  Sir  Asinus,  "  there,  you  have  broken 
my  pipe,  you  awkward  cub !" 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Jacques,  gazing  upon  the.  splinters 
with  melancholy  curiosity;  "what  you  say  is  very 
just." 

And  sitting  down,  he  gazed  round  him,  smiling  sadly. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  119 

/ 

"  Nothing  better  could  be  expected  from  you,  how- 
ever, you  careless  fop !" 

And  giving  one  of  the  violin  pegs  a  wrench,  Sir  Asinus 
snapped  a  string. 

"  There !"  he  cried,  "  you  bring  bad  fortune !  whenever 
you  come,  I  have  the  devil's  own  luck." 

Jacques  laughed  quietly,  and  stretching  out  his  ele- 
gant foot,  yawned  luxuriously. 

"  You  are  naturally  unlucky,  my  dear  knight,"  he 
said.  "  Hand  me  a  glass  of  wine — or  don't  trouble  your- 
self: the  exercise  of  rising  will  do  me  good." 

And  leaning  over,  he  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and 
sipped  it. 

"  I  was  coming  along,  and  thought  I  would  come  in," 
he  said.  "  How  is  your  Excellency  to-day  ?" 

"  Dying  of  weariness !" 

"  What !  even  your  great  Latin  song •" 

"  Is  growing  dull,  sir.  How  can  a  man  live  on  soli- 
tude and  Latin  ?  No  girls,  no  frolics,  no  fun,  no  nothing, 
if  I  may  use  that  inelegant  expression,"  said  Sir  Asinus. 

"  Go  back,  then." 

"Never!" 

«  Why  not  ?" 

"  Do  you  ask  ?  I  am  a  martyr,  sir,  to  my  great  and 
expanded  political  ideas ;  my  religious  opinions ;  my 
theory  of  human  rights." 

"Ah,  indeed?  Well,  they  ought  to  appreciate  the 
compliment  you  pay  them,  and  console  you  in  your 
exile." 

"  They  do,  sir,"  said  Sir  Asinus. 

"  Delighted  to  hear  it,"  sighed  Jacques,  setting  down 
his  glass.  "  Has  Doctor  Small  called  on  you  yet  ?" 


120  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFEKSON  ;   OK, 

"  No.  I  fervently  desire  that  he  will  call.  We  could 
sing  my  Latin  song  together — he  would  take  the  bass ; 
and  in  three  hours  I  should  make  of  him  a  convert  to  my 
political  ideas." 

"  Indeed  ?  Shall  I  mention  that  you  wish  to  see 
him?" 

"  No,  I  believe  not,"  said  Sir  Asinus ;  "  I  am  busy  at 
present." 

"  At  what — yawning  ?" 

"  No,  you  fop !  I  am  framing  a  national  anthem  for 
the  violin." 

" Tune— the  « Exile's  Return,'  eh?" 

"  Base  scoffer !     But  what  news  ?" 

"  A  great  piece." 

"  What  ?" 

"  I  am  too  indolent  to  tell  it." 

"  Come,  Jacques — I  'm  dying  for  news." 

"  I  really  couldn't.  You  have  no  idea  how  weakly  I 
am  growing ;  and  as  it  deals  in  battle  and  blood,  I  can- 
not touch  upon  it." 

"  Ah !  that  is  the  character  of  a  man's  friends.  In  the 
sunshine  all  devotion  ;  in  adversity " 

"  And  exile -" 

"All  hatred." 

"Yery  well,"  said  Jacques,  "I  can  afford  to  labor 
under  your  injustice.  You  are  systematically  unjust. 
But  I  just  dropped  in  as  I  passed — and,  my  dear  Sir 
Asinus,  there  is  a  visitor  coming.  I  shall  intrude " 

"No;  stay!  stay!" 

"  Yery  well." 

Sir  Asinus  laid  down  his  violin ;  and  stretching  him- 
self, said  carelessly : 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCKAPES.  121 

"  I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  you  had  brought  some 
dun  in  your  train.  Decidedly  you  possess  the  gettatura, 
—that  faculty  called  the  Evil  Eye." 

The  step  ascended. 

"  Who  is  it — whose  heavy  step  can  that  be  ?"  said 
Sir  Asinus,  rising ;  "  it  is  not  Randolph :  it  might  be 
yours  coming  from  Belle-bouche's " 

Sir  Asinus  caught  sight  of  a  large  cocked  hat  rising 
from  beneath,  followed  by  a  substantial  person. 

"  O  Heaven !"  he  cried,  "  it 's  Doctor  Small !  The 
door — the  door I" 

"  Too  late  !"  said  Jacques,  laughing  ;  "  the  Doctor  will 
find  the  stairs  suddenly  darkened  if  you  close  the  door  ; 
and  then  he  will  know  you  are  not  absent,  only  play- 
ing him  a  trick  !"  • 

"True!  true!"  cried  Sir  Asinus  in  despair;  "where 
shall  I  go  ?  I  am  lost !" 

"  The  refuge  of  comedy-characters  is  left,"  said  Jacques 
— "  the  closet !" 

"  You  will  betray  me  !" 

"  No,  no,"  sighed  Jacques  reproachfully ;  "  bad  as 
you  are,  Sir  Asinus r" 

But  the  worthy  knight  had  disappeared  in  the  closet, 
and  Jacques  was  silent. 

*  The  cocked  hat,  as  we  have  said,"  was  succeeded  by  a 
pair  of  shoulders ;  the  shoulders  now  appeared  joined  to 
a  good  portly  body ;  and  lastly,  the  well-clad  legs  of 
worthy  Doctor  Small  appeared ;  and  passing  along  the 
passage,  he  entered  the  room. 

"  Good  morning,  my  young  friend,"  he  said  politely ; 
"  a  very  beautiful  day." 

And  he  sat  down. 


122  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

"  Exceedingly  beautiful,  Doctor,"  said  Jacques  sadly  ; 
"  and  I  was  just  thinking  how  pleasant  my  ride  would 
be.  Did  you  pass  our  friend  going  out  3" 

"  ~No ;  I  was  anxious  to  see  him." 
-  "He  was  in  the  room  a  few  minutes  since,"   said 
Jacques ;  "  what  a  pity  that  you  missed  him." 

"  I  regret  it ;  for  this  is,  I  think,  the  third  time  I  have 
attempted  to  find  him.  He  is  a  wild  young  man — a 
very  wild  young  man,"  said  the  Doctor,  shaking  his 
head. 

"Yes,  yes,"  sighed  Jacques,  imitating  the  Doctor's 
gesture ;  "  I  am  sometimes  anxious  about  him." 

And  Jacques  sighed  and  touched  his  forehead. 

"  Here,  you  know,  Doctor." 

"  Ah?"  asked  the  Doctor,  wiping  his  face  with  a  silk 
handkerchief,  and  leaning  on  his  stick. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  has  betrayed  unmistakable  evidences 
of  lunacy  of  late." 

The  closet  door  creaked. 

"  It 's  astonishing  how  many  rats  there  are  in  this 
place,"  said  Jacques  ;  "  that  closet  seems  to  be  their 
head-quarters." 

"Indeed?"  said  the  Doctor;  "but  you  surprise  me 
by  saying  that  Thomas  has  a  tendency  to  insanity.  I 
thought  his  one  of  the  justest  and  most  brilliant  minds 
in  college.  Idle,  yes,  very  idle,  and  procrastinating ; 
but  still  he  is  no  common  young  man." 

The  closet  murmured :  there  was  no  ground  for  charg- 
ing the  rats  with  this ;  so  Jacques  observed  that  "  the 
winds  here  were  astonishing — they  were  stirring  when 
all  else  was  still." 

"  I  did  not  remark  it,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  but  this " 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  123 

"  Affair  of  Tom's  lunacy,  sir  ?" 

The  Doctor  nodded  with  a  benevolent  smile,  and  re- 
stored his  handkerchief  to  the  pocket  of  his  long,  heavy, 
flapped  coat. 

"  "Why,  sir,"  said  Jacques,  "  there  is  a  very  beautiful 
young  lady  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  town,  who  has 
smiled  on  Tom  perhaps  as  many  as  three  times ;  and 
would  you  believe  it,  sir,  the  infatuated  youth  thinks  she 
is  in  love  with  him." 

"Ah!  ah!"  smiled  the  Doctor ;  "  a  mere  youthful 
folly." 

"She  cares  not  one  pinch  of  snuff  for  him,"  said 
Jacques,  "  and  he  believes  that  she  is  dying  for  him." 

The  Doctor  smiled  again. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  fear  your  charge 
of  lunacy  will  not  stand  upon  such  ground  as  that. 
'T  is  a  trifle." 

"  I  do  not  charge  him  with  it,"  said  Jacques  gener- 
ously ;  "  Heaven  forbid  !  I  always  endeavor  to  conceal 
it,  and  never  allude  to  it  in  his  presence.  But  I  thought 
it  my  duty.  You  know,  sir,  there  are  a  number  of 
things  which  may  be  told  to  one's  friends  which  should 
not  be  alluded  to  in  their  presence." 

"  Yes,  yes — of  this  description :  it  would  be  cruel ; 
but  you  are  certainly  mistaken." 

"  I  hope  so,  sir ;  but  I  consider  it  my  duty  further  to 
inform  you  that  I  fear  Tom  is  following  evil  courses." 

"  Evil  courses  ?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

The  door  creaked  terribly. 

"  You  pain  me,"  said  the  Doctor ;  "  to  what  dcr  you 
allude?" 


124:  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEBSON ,'   OK, 

"  Ah,  sir,  it  is  terrible  !" 

"  How  ?  But  observe,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  speak,  sir. 
If  it  be  your  pleasure,  very  well,  and  I  trust  what  I  shall 
do  will  be  for  Thomas's  good.  But  I  do  not  invite  your 
information." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  tell,  sir  ;  and  I  must  speak." 

"With  which  words  Jacques  paused  a  moment,  enjoy- 
ing the  dreadful  suspense  of  the  concealed  gentleman, 
who  seemed  about  to  verify  the  proverb  that  listeners 
never  hear  any  good  of  themselves.  The  closet  groaned. 

"  I  refer  to  political  courses,"  said  Jacques,  "  and  I 
have  heard  Tom  speak  repeatedly  lately  of  going  to 
Europe." 

"  To  Europe  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  in  his  yacht,  armed  and  prepared." 

"  Prepared  for  what  ?" 

"  That  I  do  n't  know,  sir ;  but  you  may  judge  your- 
self. It  seems  to  me  that  the  arms  on  board  his  yacht, 
the  '  Rebecca,'  might  very  well  be  used  to  murder  his 
most  gracious  Majesty  George  III.,  or  the  great  Grenville 
Townsend,  or  other  friends  of  constitutional  liberty." 

The  Doctor  absolutely  laughed. 

"  Why,  you  are  too  suspicious,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can- 
not believe  Thomas  is  so  bad.  He  has  adopted  many  of 
the  new  ideas,  and  may  go  great  lengths  ;  but  assassina- 
tion— that  is  too  absurd.  Excuse  my  plain  speaking," 
said  the  worthy  Doctor,  rising ;  "  and  pardon  my  leaving 
you,  my  young  friend.  I  have  some  calls  to  make,  and 
especially  to  go  and  see  the  young  gentlemen  who  came 
near  fighting  a  duel  yesterday.  What  a  terribly  wild 
set  of  youths !  Ah !  they  give  me  much  trouble,  and 
cause  me  a  great  deal  of  anxiety !  Well,  sir,  good  day. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  125 

I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  Thomas ;  please  say  that  I 
called  to  speak  with  him — he  is  wrong  to  hold  out 
against  the  authorities  thus.  Good  day — good  day !" 

And  the  worthy  Doctor,  who  had  uttered  these  sen- 
tences while  he  was  putting  on  his  hat  and  grasping  his 
stick,  issued  from  the  door  and  descended. 

Jacques  put  on  his  hat  and  followed  him — possibly 
from  a  desire  to  escape  the  thanks  and  blessings  of  Sir 
Asinus. 

In  vain  did  the  noble  knight  charge  him,  sotto  voce, 
from  the  closet  with  perfidy  and  fear ;  Jacques  was  not 
to  be  turned  back.  He  issued  forth  and  mounted  his 
horse. 

Sir  Asinus  appeared  at  the  window  like  an  avenging 
demon. 

"  Oh !  you  villain !"  he  cried,  first  assuring  himself 
that  Dr.  Small  had  disappeared ;  "  I  will  revenge  my- 
self!" 

"Ah?"  said  Jacques,  settling  himself  in  the  saddle 
and  smiling  languidly. 

"  Yes ;  you  're  afraid  to  remain." 

"  No,  no,"  remonstrated  Jacques. 

"  You  are,  sir !  I  challenge  you  to  return ;  you  have 
basely  maligned  my  character.  And  that  duel !  You 
have  not  condescended  to  open  your  mouth  upon  that 
great  event  of  the  day,  knowing  as  you  did,  all  the  time, 
that  circumstances  render  it  necessary  that  I  should  re- 
main in  retirement !" 

"  Did  n't  I  mention  the  duel  ?"  sighed  Jacques,  gather- 
ing up  his  reins  and  looking  with  languid  interest  at 
the  martingale. 

"No." 


126  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON. 

«Ah,  really— did  I  not?" 

"  No.  Come  now,  Jacques !  tell  me  how  it  was," 
said  Sir  Asinus  in  a  coaxing  tone,  "  and  I  '11  forgive  all ; 
for  I  'm  dying  of  curiosity." 

"  I  would  with  pleasure,"  said  Jacques,  "  but  unfor- 
tunately I  have  n't  time." 

"Time?    You  have  lots !" 

"  No,  no — she  expects  me,  you  know." 

"Who— not ?" 

"  Yes,  Belle-bouche.  Take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear 
knight,"  said  Jacques  with  friendly  interest;  "good- 
by." 

And  touching  his  horse  with  the  spurs,  he  went  on, 
pursued  by  the  maledictions  of  Sir  Asinus.  He  had 
cause.  Jacques  had  charged  him  with  lunacy ;  said 
he  designed  assassinating  the  King ;  kept  from  him  the 
very  names  of  the  combatants ;  and  was  going  to  see  his 
sweetheart ! 


CHAPTEE   XYII. 

COKYDON     GOES     A- CO  TTKTIN  G. 

HAVE  you  never,  friendly  reader,  on  some  bright 
May  morning,  when  the  air  is  soft  and  warm,  the 
sky  deep  azure,  and  the  whole  universe  filled  to  the 
brim  with  that  gay  spirit  of  youth  which  spring  infuses 
into  this  the  month  of  flowers,  as  wine  is  squeezed  from 
the  ripe  bunch  of  grapes  into  the  goblet  of  Bohemian 
glass,  all  red  and  blue  and  emerald — at  such  times 
have  you  never  suffered  the  imagination  to  go  forth, 
unfettered  by  reality,  to  find  in  the  bright  scenes  which 
it  creates,  a  world  more  sunny,  figures  more  attractive 
than  the  actual  universe,  the  real  forms  around  you? 
Have  you  never  tried  to  fill  your  heart  with  dreams, 
to  close  your  vision  to  the  present,  and  to  bathe  your 
weary  forehead  in  those  golden  waters  flowing  from  the 
dreamland  of  the  past  ?  The  Spanish  verses  say  the  old 
times  were  the  best ;  and  we  may  assert  truly  that  they 
are  for  us  at  least  the  best — for  reverie. 

This  reverie  may  be  languid,  luxurious,  and  lapped  in 
down — enveloped  in  a  perfume  weighing  down  the  very 
senses,  and  obliterating  by  its  drowsy  influence  every 
sentiment  but  languid  pleasure ;  or  it  may  be  fiery  and 
heroic,  eloquent  of  war  and  shocks,  sounding  of  beaute- 
ous battle,  and  red  banners  bathed  in  slaughter.  But 


128  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFEESON  ;    OE, 

there  is  something  different  from  both  of  these  moods — 
the  one  languid  and  the  other  fiery. 

There  is  the  neutral  ground  of  fancy  properly  so 
called :  a  land  which  we  enter  with  closed  eyes  and 
smiling  lips,  a  country  full  of  fruits  and  flowers — fruits 
of  that  delicious  flavor  of  the  Hesperides,  sweet  flowers 
odorous  as  the  breezy  blossoms  which  adorn  the  moun- 
tains. Advance  into  that  brilliant  country,  and  you  draw 
in  life  at  every  pore — a  thousand  merry  figures  come 
to  meet  you :  maidens  clad  in  the  gay  costumes  of  the 
elder  time,  all  fluttering  with  ribbons,  rosy  cheeks  and 
lips ! — maidens  who  smile,  and  with  their  taper  fingers 
point  at  those  who  follow  them ;  gay  shepherds,  gallant  in 
silk  stockings  and  embroidered  doublets,  carrying  their 
crooks  wreathed  round  with  floweres ;  while  over  all, 
the  sun  laughs  gladly,  and  the  breezes  bear  away  the 
merry  voices,  sprinkling  on  the  air  the  joyous  music 
born  of  lightness  and  gay-heartedness. 

All  the  old  manners,  dead  and  gone  with  dear  grand- 
mother's youth,  are  fresh  again ;  and  myriads  of  chil- 
dren trip  along  on  red-he"eled  shoes,  and  agitate  the 
large  rosettes,  and  glittering  ribbons,  and  bright 
wreaths  of  flowers  which  deck  them  out  like  tender 
heralds  of  the  spring.  And  with  them  mingle  all  those 
maidens  holding  picture-decorated  fans  with  which  they 
flirt — this  is  the  derivation  of  our  modern  word — and 
the  gay  gallants  with  their  never-ending  compliments 
and  smiles.  And  so  the  pageant  sweeps  along  with 
music,  joy,  and  laughter,  to  the  undiscovered  land, 
hidden  in  mist,  and  entered  by  the  gateway  of  oblivion. 

You  see  all  this  in  reverie,  gentle  reader — build  your 
pretty  old  chateau  to  dream  in,  that  is ;  and  it  swarms 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  129 

with  figures — graceful  and  grotesque  as  those  old  high- 
backed  carven  chairs — slender  and  delicate  as  the  chis- 
elled wave  which  breaks  in  foam  against  the  cornice. 
And  then  you  wake,  and  find  the  flowers  pressed  in  the 
old  volume  called  the  Past,  all  dry — your  castle  only 
a  castle  of  your  dreams.  Poor  castle  made  of  cards, 
which  a  child's  finger  fillips  down,  or,  like  the  frost  pal- 
ace on  the  window  pane,  faints  and  fails  at  a  breath  ! 

Your  reverie  is  over:  nothing  bright  can  last,  not 
even  dreams ;  and  so  your  figures  are  all  gone,  your 
fairy  realm  obliterated — nothing  lives  but  the  recollec- 
tion of  a  shadow ! 

The  reader  is  requested  to  identify  our  melancholy 
lover  Jacques  with  the  foregoing  sentences ;  and  for- 
give him  in  consideration  of  his  unfortunate  condition. 
Lovers,  as  every  body  knows,  live  dfeam-lives  ;  and  what 
we  have  written  is  not  an  inaccurate  hint  of  what  passed 
through  the  heart  of  Jacques  as  he  went  on  beneath 
peach  and  cherry  blossoms  to  his  love. 

Poor  Jacques  was  falling  more  deeply  in  love  with 
every  passing  day.  That  fate  which  seemed  to  deny 
him  incessantly  an  opportunity  to  hear  Belle-bouche's 
reply  to  his  suit,  had  only  inflamed  his  love.  He  uttered 
mournful  sighs,  and  looked  with  melancholy  pleasure 
at  the  thrushes  who  skipped  nimbly  through  the  boughs, 
and  did  their  musical  wooing  under  the  great  azure  can- 
opy. His  arms  hung  down,  his  eyes  were  very  dreamy,  • 
his  lips  were  wreathed  into  a  faint  wistful  smile.  Poor 
Jacques ! 

As  he  drew  near  Shadynook,  the  sunshine  seemec! 
growing  every  moment  brighter,  and  the  flowers  ex- 
haled sweeter  odors.  The  orchis,  eglantine,  and  crocus 


130  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

burned  in  blue  and  shone  along  the  braes,  to  use  the 
fine  old  Scottish  word ;  and  over  him  the  blossoms 
shook  and  showered,  and  made  the  whole  air  heavy 
with  perfume.  As  he  approached  the  gate,  set  in  the 
low  flowery  fence,  Jacques  sighed  and  smiled.  Daph- 
nis  was  near  his  Daphne — Strephon  would  soon  meet 
Chloe. 

He  tied  his  horse  to  a  sublunary  rack — not  a  thing  of 
fairy  land  and  moonshine  as  he  thought — and  slowly 
took  his  way,  across  the  flower-enamelled  lawn,  towards 
the  old  smiling  mansion.  Eager,  longing,  dreaming, 
Jacques  held  out  his  arms  and  listened  for  her  voice. 

He  heard  instead  an  invisible  voice,  which  he  soon, 
however,  made  out  as  belonging  to  an  Ethiopian  lady  of 
the  bedchamber ;  and  this  voice  said : 

"  Miss  Becca's  don£  gone  out,  sir !" 

And  Jacques  felt  suddenly  as  if  the  sunshine  all 
around  had  faded,  and  thick  darkness  followed.  All  the 
light  and  joy  of  smiling  Shadynook  was  gone — she  was 
not  there ! 

"  Where  was  she  2" 

"  She  and  Mistiss  went  out  for  a  walk,  sir — down  to 
the  quarters  through  the  grove." 

Jacques  brightened  up  like  a  fine  dawn.  The  acci- 
dent might  turn  to  his  advantage :  he  might  see  Mrs. 
"Wimple  safely  home,  then  he  and  Belle-bouche  would 
prolong  their  walk ;  and  then  she  would  be  compelled 
to  listen  to  him  ;  and  then — and  then — Jacques  had 
arranged  the  whole  in  his  mind  by  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  grove. 

He  was  going  along  reflecting  upon  the  hidden  signi- 
ficance of  crooks,  and  flowers,  and  shepherdesses — for 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGK   SCKAPES.  131 

Jacques  was  a  poet,  and  more  still,  a  poet  in  love — 
when  a  stifled  laugh  attracted  his  attention,  and  raising 
his  head,  he  directed  his  dreamy  glances  in  the  direction 
of  the  sound. 

He  saw  Belle-bouche ! — Belle-bouche  sitting  under  a 
flowering  cherry  tree,  upon  the  brink  of  a  little  stream 
which,  crossed  by  a  wide  single  log,  purled  on  through 
sun  and  shadow. 

Belle-bouche  was  clad,  as  usual,  with  elegant  simpli- 
city, and  her  fair  hair  resembled  gold  in  the  vagrant 
gleams  of  sunlight  which  stole  through  the  boughs, 
drooping  their  odorous  blossoms  over  her,  and  scat- 
tering the  delicate  rosy-snow  leaves  on  the  book  she 
held. 

That  book  was  a  volume  of  Scotch  songs,  and  against 
the  rough  back  the  little  hand  of  Belle-bouche  resem- 
bled a  snow-flake. 

Jacques  caught  his  breath,  and  bowed  and  fell,  so  to 
speak,  beside  her. 

"  You  came  near  walking  into  the  brook,"  said  Belle-' 
bouche,  with  her  languishing  smile  ;  "  what,  pray,  were 
you  thinking  of?" 

"  Of  you,"  sighed  Jacques. 

The  little  beauty  blushed. 

"  Oh,  then  your  time  was  thrown  away,"  she  said ; 
"you  should  not  busy  yourself  with  so  idle  a  person- 
age," 

"  Ah  !"  sighed  Jacques,  "  how  can  I  help  it?" 

"  What  a  lovely  day  !"  said  Belle-bouche,  in  order  to 
divert  the  conversation.  "Aunt  and  myself  thought 
we'd  come  down  to  the  quarters  and  see  the  sick.  I 
carried  mammy  Lucy  some  nice  things,  and  aunt  went 


132  THE  YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;    OR, 

on  to  see  about  some  spinning,  and'  I  came  here  to 
look  over  this  book  of  songs,  which  I  have  just  got 
from  London." 

"  Songs  ?"  said  Jacques,  with  deep  interest,  and  bend- 
ing down  until  his  lips  nearly  touched  the  little  hand ; 
"songs,  eh?" 

"  Scottish  songs,"  laughed  Belle-bouche ;  "  and  when 
you  came  I  was  reading  this  one,  which  seems  to  be  the 
chronicle  of  a  very  unfortunate  gentleman." 

With  which  words  Belle-Bouche,  laughing  gaily, 
read : 

"  Now  Jockey  was  a  bonny  lad 
As  e'er  was  born  in  Scotland  fair  ; 
But  now,  poor  man,  he 's  e'en  gone  woad, 
Since  Jenny  has  gart  him  despair. 

"  Young  Jockey  was  a  piper's  son, 
And  fell  in  love  when  he  was  young  ; 
But  a'  the  spring  that  he  could  play 
Was  o'er  the  hills  and  far  away !" 

And  ending,  Belle-bouche  handed  the  book,  wdth 
a  merry  little  glance,  to  Jacques,  who  sighed  pro- 
foundly 

"  Yes,  yes !"  he  murmured,  "  I  believe  you  are  right 
• — true,  it  is  about  a  very  unfortunate  shepherd- — all 
lovers  are  unfortunate.  These  seem  to  be  pretty  songs 
— very  pretty." 

And  he  disconsolately  turned  over  the  leaves ;  then 
stopped  and  began  reading. 

"  Here  is  one  more  cheerful,"  he  said ;  "  suppose  I 
read  it,  my  dear  Miss  Belle-bouche." 

And  he  read : 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE    SCKAPES.  133 

"  'Twas  when  the  sun  had  left  the  west, 

And  starnies  twinkled  clearie,  0, 
I  hied  to  her  I  lo'e  the  best, 
My  blithesome,  winsome  dearie,  O. 

"  Her  cherry  lip,  her  e'e  sae  blue, 

Her  dimplin'  cheek  sae  bonnie,  0, 

An'  'boon  them  a'  her  heart  sae  true, 

Hae  won  me  mair  than  ony,  0." 

"  Pretty,  is  n't  it  ?"  sighed  Jacques  ;  "  but  here  is  an- 
other verse : 

"  Yestreen  we  met  beside  the  birk, 

A-down  ayont  the  burnie,  0, 

An'  wan'er't  till  the  auld  gray  kirk 

A  stap  put  to  our  journie,  O. 

"  Ah,  lassie,  there  it  stans !  quo'  I " 

"With  which  words  Jacques  shut  the  book,  and  threw 
upon  Belle-bouche  a  glance  which  made  that  young 
lady  color  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go,"  murmured  Belle-bouche, 
rising ;  "  I  have  to  fix  for  the  ball " 

"Not  before !" 

"No,  not  before  Tuesday,  I  believe,"  said  Belle- 
bouche  ;  "  I  am  glad  they  changed  it  from  Monday." 

Jacques  drew  back,  sighing ;  but  returning  to  the  at- 
tack, said  in  an  expiring  voice : 

"  What  will  my  Flora  wear — lace  and  flowers  ?" 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  said  Belle-bouche,  putting  on  her 
light  chip  hat  and  tying  the  ribbon  beneath  her  dim- 
pled chin. 

Poor  Jacques  was  for  a  moment  so  completely  ab- 
sorbed by  this  lovely  picture,  that  he  did  not  reply. 


134  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

"  "Who  is  Flora  ! — can  you  ask  ?"  lie  stammered. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Belle-bouche,  blushing  ;  "  you  mean 
Philippa,  do  you  not  ?  But  I  can't  tell  you  what  she 
will  wear.  She  has  returned  home.  Let  us  go  back 
through  the  orchard." 

And  Belle-bouche,  with  that  exquisite  grace  which 
characterized  her,  crossed  the  log  and  stood  upon  the 
opposite  bank  o£  the  brook,  looking  coquettish]  y  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  melancholy  Jacques,  who  was  so  ab- 
sorbed in  gazing  after  her  that  he  had  scarcely  presence 
of  mind  enough  to  follow. 

"  What  a  lovely  day ;  a  real  lover's  day !"  he  said, 
with  a  sigh,  when  he  had  joined  her,  and  they  were 
walking  on. 

"  Delightful,"  said  Belle-bouche,  smelling  a  violet. 

"And  the  blossoms,  you  know,"  observed  Jacques 
disconsolately. 

"  Delicious !" 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  birds,"  continued  Jacques, 
sighing.  "  I  believe  the  birds  know  the  twentieth  of 
May  is  coming." 

"Why — what  takes  place  upon  the  twentieth?"  said 
Belle-bouche,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"That  is  the  day  for  lovers,  and  I  observed  a  number 
of  birds  making  love  as  I  came  along,"  sighed  Jacques. 
"  I  only  wish  they  'd  teach  me  how." 

Belle-bouche  turned  away,  blushing. 

"  On  the  twentieth  of  May,"  continued  Jacques,  en- 
veloping the  fascinating  countenance  of  Belle-bouche 
with  his  melancholy  glance,  "  the  old  lovers  in  Arcadia 
— the  Strephons,  Chloes,  Corydons,  Daphnes,  and  Nar- 
cissuses— always  made  love  and  married  on  that  day." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.     *  135 

"  Then,"  said  Belle-bouche,  faintly  smiling,  "  they  did 
every  thing  very  quickly." 

"  In  a  great  hurry,  eh  2"  said  Jacques,  sighing. 

"  Yes,  sir.'1 

"  Do  not  call  me  sir,  my  dearest  Miss  Belle-bouche — 
it  sounds  so  formal  and  unpoetical." 

"  What  then  shall  I  call  you?"  laughed  Belle-bouche, 
with  a  slight  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Strephon,  or  Corydon,  or  Daphnis,"  said  Jacques ; 
"  for  you  are  Phillis,,  you  know." 

Belle-bouche  turned  the  color  of  a  peony,  and  said 
faintly : 

"  I  thought  my  name  was  Chloe  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  ready  Jacques,  "  but  that  was  when 
my  own  name  was  Corydon." 

"  Corydon  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  sighed  Jacques,  "  the  victim  of  the  lovely 
Chloe's  beauty  in  the  old  days  of  Arcady." 

Belle-bouche  made  no  reply. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Jacques,  "if  you  would  only  make 
that  old  tradition  true — if " 

"  Oh !"  said  Belle-bouche,  looking  another  way,  "just 
listen  to  that. mocking-bird  !" 

"  If  love  far  greater  than  the  love  of  Corydon — devo- 
tion  " 

"  I  could  dance  a  reel  to  it,"  said  Belle-bouche,  blush- 
ing ;  "  and  we  shall  have  some  reels,  I  Tiope,  at  the  ball. 
Oh !  I  expect  a  great  deal  of  pleasure." 

"  And  I,"  said  Jacques,  sadly,  "  for  I  escort  you." 

"  Then  you  have  not  forgotten  your  promise  ?" 

"  Forgotten  1" 


136  THE   YOTJTH   OF  JEFFERSON. 

"And  you  really  will  take  charge  of  me?"  said  Belle- 
bouche,  with  a  delightful  expression  of  doubt. 

"  Take  charge  of  you  ?"  cned  Jacques,  overwhelmed 
and  drowned  in  love  ;  "take  charge  of  you  !  Oh  Belle- 
bouche  !  dearest  Belle-bouche ! — you  are  killing  me  ! 
Oh !  let  me  take  charge  of  your  life — see  Corydon  here 
at  your  feet,  the  fondest,  most  devoted " 

"Becca!  will  you  never  hear  me?"  cried  the  voice  of 
Aunt  Wimple  ;  "  here  I  am  toiling  after  you  till  I  am 
out  of  breath — for  Heaven's  sake,  stop !" 

And  smiling,  red  in  the  face,  panting  Aunt  "Wimple 
drew  near  and  bowed  pleasantly  to  Jacques,  who  only 
groaned,  and  murmured  : 

"  One  more  chance  gone — ah !" 

As  for  Belle-bouche,  she  was  blushing  like  a  rose. 
She  uttered  not  one  word  until  they  reached  the  house. 
Then  she  said,  turning  round  with  a  smile  and  a  blush : 

"  Indeed,  you  must  excuse  me !" 

Poor  Jacques  sighed.  He  saw  her  leave  him,  taking 
away  the  light  and  joy  of  his  existence.  He  slowly  went 
away ;  and  all  the  way  back  to  town  he  felt  as  if  he  was 
not  a  real  man  on  horseback,  rather  a  dream  mounted 
upon  a  cloud,  and  both  asleep.  Poor  Jacques  ! 


CHAPTEK    XVIII. !,jft: 

GOING   TO   KOSELAND. 

AS  the  unfortunate  lover  entered  Williamsburg,  his 
hands  hanging  down,  his  eyes  dreamy  and  fixed 
with  hostile  intentness  on  vacancy,  his  shoulders  droop- 
ing and  swaying  from  side  to  side  like  those  of  a  drunken 
.man, — he  saw  pass  before  him,  rattling  and  joyous,  a 
brilliant  equipage,  which,  like  a  sleigh  covered  with 
bells,  seemed  to  leave  in  its  wake  a  long  jocund  peal 
of  merriment  and  laughter. 

In  this  vehicle,  which  mortals  were  then  accustomed  to 
call,  and  indeed  call  still,  a  curricle,  sat  two  young  men 
who  were  conversing ;  and  as  the  melancholy  Jacques 
passed  on  his  way,  the  younger  student — for  such  he  was 
— said,  laughing,  to  his  companion : 

"  Look,  Ernest,  there  is  a  man  in  love  !" 

Mowbray  raised  his  head,  and  seeing  Jacques,  smiled 
sadly  and  thoughtfully ;  then  his  breast  moved,  and  a 
profound  sigh  issued  from  his  lips :  he  made  no  reply. 

"  Why  !"  cried  Hoffland,  "  you  have  'just  been  guilty, 
Ernest,  of  a  ceremony  which  none  but  a  woman  should 
perform.  What  a  sigh !" 

Mowbray  turned  away  his  head. 

"  I  was  only  thinking,"  he  said  calmly. 

"  Thinking  of  what  ?" 

«  Nothing." 


138  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON;    OE, 

"  I  see  that  yon  think  one  thing,"  said  Hoffland,  with 
a  mischievous  twinkle  in  his  eye ;  "  to  wit,  that  I  am 
very  prying." 

"  No ;  but  my  thoughts  would  not  interest  you, 
Charles,"  said  Mowbray. 

And  a  sigh  still  more  profound  agitated  his  lips  and 
breast. 

"  Suppose  you  try  me,"  his  companion  said ;  "  speak- 
ing generally,  your  thoughts  do  interest  me." 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  a  woman,"  said  Mow- 
.  bray. 

"  A  woman !  Oh !  then  your  time,  in  your  own 
opinion  at  least,  was  thrown  away." 

"  "Worse,"  said  Mowbray  gloomily ;  "  worse  by  far." 

"How?" 

"  It  is  useless,  Charles,  to  touch  upon  the  subject ;  let 
it  rest." 

"  No ;  I  wish  you  to  tell  me,  if  I  am  not  intrusive, 
what  woman  you  were  at  the  moment  honoring  with  a 
sigh." 

Mowbray  raised  his  head  calmly,  and  yielding  like  all 
lovers  to  the  temptation  to  pour  into  the  bosom  of  his 
friend  those  troubled  thoughts  which  oppressed  his  heart, 
said  to  his  companion : 

"  The  woman  we  were  speaking  of  the  other  day." 

"  You  have  not  told  me  her  name,"  said  Hoffland. 

"  It  is  useless." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  she  is  lost  to  me." 

"Lost?" 

"For  ever." 

And  after  this  gloomy  reply,  Mowbray  looked  away. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  139 

Hoffland  placed  a  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  said  : 

"  Upon  what  grounds  do  you  base  your  opinion  that 
she  is  lost  to  you  ?" 

"  It  is  not  an  opinion ;  I  know  it  too  well." 

"  If  you  were  mistaken  ?" 

"  Mistaken  !"  said  Mowbray  ;  "  mistaken  !  You  think 
I  am  mistaken  ?  Then  you  know  nothing  of  what  took 
place  at  our  last  interview  ;  or  you  did  not  listen  rather 
— for  if  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  I  told  you 
all." 

"  I  did  listen." 

"  And  you  now  doubt  that  she  is  lost  to  me  ?" 

"  Seriously." 

"Charles,  you  are  either  the  most  inexperienced  or 
the  most  desperately  hopeful  character  that  has  ever 
been  created." 

"  I  am  neither,"  said  Hoffland  smiling.  "  I  am  ration- 
al, and  I  know  what  I  say." 

Mowbray  suppressed  an  impatient  gesture,  and  said : 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  she  made  me  the  butt  for  her 
wit  and  sarcasm " 

"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  more  !  She  scoffed  at  me,  as  a  mere  for- 
tune-hunter, and  gave  me  the  most  ironical  advice " 

"  You  are  convinced  it  was  ironical  ?" 

"  Convinced  ?  Have  I  eyes — have  I  ears  ?  Truly,  if 
I  had  failed  to  be  convinced,  I  should  have  verified  the 
scriptural  saying  of  those  who  have  eyes  and  see  not — 
who  have  ears  and  do  not  hear." 

"  Are  the  eyes  always  true  ?"  said  Hoffland,  smiling. 

"  ISTo :  you  have  not  succeeded,  nevertheless,  in  show-, 
ing  me  that  I  saw  wrong." 


140  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OB, 

"  Are  the  ears  invariably  just?" 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  cease  worrying  me  with  general 
propositions !'.'  said  Mowbray. 

Then,  seeing  that  his  companion  was  hurt  by  his  irri- 
tated tone,  he  added : 

"  Forgive  me,  Charles  !  I  lose  my  equanimity  upon 
this  subject ;  let  us  dismiss  it." 

"  Yery  well,"  said  Hoffland,  smiling  mischievously  ; 
"  but  remember  what  I  now  say,  Ernest,  and  remember 
well.  The  eyes  are  deceptive — the  ears  worse  than  de- 
ceptive. You  truly  have  eyes  and  see  not,  ears  and  hear 
not!  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  your  lady-love, 
who  is  an  excellent-hearted  girl,  I  am  convinced,  in- 
tended merely  to  apply  a  last  test ;  and  if  you  have 
bounded  like  an  impulsive  horse  under  the  spur,  and 
tossed  from  her,  the  blame  does  not  rest  with  her.  And 
remember  this  too,  Ernest,"  Hoffland  went  on  sadly ;  for 
one  of  the  strange  peculiarities  of  this  young  man  was 
his  habit  of  abrupt  transition  from  merriment  to  sadness, 
from  smiles  to  sighs  ;  "  remember,  Ernest,  that  your  de- 
termination to  see  her  no  more  has  probably  inflicted  on 
this  young  girl's  heart  a  cruel  pang :  you  cannot  know 
that  she  is  not  now  shedding  bitter  tears  at  the  result  of 
her  trial  of  your  feelings  !  Oh !  remember  that  it  is  not 
the  poor  and  afflicted  only  who  weep — it  is  the  rich  and 
joyous  also  ;  and  the  hottest  tears  are  often  shed  by  the 
eyes  which  seem  made  to  dispense  smiles  alone !" 

Mowbray  listened  to  the  earnest  voice  in  silence.  A 
long  pause  followed,  neither  looking  at  the  other ;  then 
Mowbray  said : 

"  You  deceive  yourself,  Charles,  if  you  imagine  that 
this  beautiful  and  wealthy  young  girl  spends  a  second 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  14:1 

thought  upon  myself.  I  was  to  her  only  a  passing 
shadow — another  name  to  add  to  her  long  list  of  cap- 
tives. Well !  I  gave  her  the  sincere  love  of  an  honest 
heart,  such  a  love  as  no  woman  has  the  right  to  spurn. 
She  did  spurn  it.  Well !  I  am  not  a  child  to  sob  and 
moan,  and  go  and  beg  her  on  my  knees  to  love  me — no  ! 
I  love  her  more  than  ever,  Charles ;  all  my  boasting  was 
mere  boasting  and  untrue — I  love  her  still — but  that 
love  she  shall  never  know  !  I  will  shut  it  up  in  my 
heart,  and  it  shall  not  issue  forth  but  with  my  life.  I 
love  her  !  but  I  will  never  place  myself  in  the  dust  be- 
fore a  woman  who  has  scorned  me.  Silence  and  self- 
.  control  I  have,  and  these  will  sustain  me." 

"  Oh,  Ernest !  Ernest !" 

"You  seem  strangely  moved  by  my  words,"  said 
Mowbray  ;  "  but  you  should  not  fancy  my  love  so  fatal. 
It  is  a  delirium  at  times,  but  Heaven  be  thanked,  it  can- 
not drive  me  mad.  Now  let  us  stop  speaking  of  these 
things.  When  I  think  of  that  young  girl,  all  my  calm- 
ness leaves  me.  Oh,  she  was  so  frank  and  true  a  soul,  I 
thought ! — so  sincere  and  bold  ! — so  lovely,  and  with  such 
a  strength  of  heart!  I  was  deceived.  Well,  well — it 
seems  to  be  the  fate  of  men,  to  find  the  ideal  of  their 
hearts  unworthy.  Let  us  speak  of  it  no  further." 

And  suppressing  his  emotion  by  a  violent  eifort,  Mow- 
bray  added  in  a  voice  perfectly  calm  and  collected  : 

"  There  is  our  cottage,  Charles — Roseland  ;  and  I  see 
Lucy  waiting  for  us  under  the  roses  on  the  porch — she 
always  looks  for  me,  I  believe." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


T  HOT  was  a  young  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty .  with 
Jj  the  brightest  face,  the  most  sparkling  eves,  and  the 
merriest  voice  which  ever  adorned  woman  entering  her 
prime.  Her  l«mght«»r  was  contagions,  and  the  listener 
most  perforce  laugh  in  unison.  Her  face  drove  awa j 
gloom,  as  die  son  does ;  her  smile  was  pure  merriment, 
rooting  afl  cares ;  and  Mowbray's  sad  countenance  be- 
came agarn  serene,  his  lips  smiled. 

Lucy  bowed  demurely  to  the  boy,  who  held  out  his 
hand  laughing, 

"  Oh!  Ernest  and  myself  are  sworn  friends,"  he  said; 
"  and  the  fact  is,  Miss  Lucy,  I  had  serious  doubts  whe- 
ther I  should  not  kiss  you — I  lore  you  so  much — for 
Ernes?*  sake!" 

And  Homand  pursed  up  his  lips,  prepared  for  all 


Lucy  was  so  completely  overcome  by  laughter  at  this 
extraordinary  speech,  that  lor  a  mpment  she  remained 
perfectly  silent,  shading  with  merriment. 

Homand  conceived  the  design  to  take  advantage  of 
this  aafawradimyntj  and  modestly  "held  up  his  mouth/' 
as  children  say.  The  consequence  was  that  Miss  Lucy 
extricated  her  hand  from  his  grasp,  and  drew  back  with 
some  hauteur ;  whereupon  Homand  assumed  an  expres- 
sion of  such  mortification  and  childlike  dissatisfaction, 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  143 

that  Mowbray,  who  had  witnessed  this  strange  scene, 
could  not  suppress  a  smile. 

"  I  might  as  well  tell  you  frankly  at  once,  Lucy,"  he 
said,  "  that  Charles  is  the  oddest  person,  and  I  think  the 
most  perfect  boy,  at  times,  I  have  ever  known." 

"la  boy  !"  cried  Hoffland ;  "  I  am  no  such  thing  !— 
am  I,  Lucy — Miss  Lucy,  I  mean,  of  course  ?  I  am  not  so 
young  as  all  that,  and  I  see  nothing  so  strange  in"  want- 
ing a  kiss.  But  I  won 't  misbehave  any  more  ;  come 
now,  see  1" 

And  drawing  himself  up  with  a  delightful  expression 
of  dignified  courtesy,  Hoffland  said,  solemnly  offering 
his  arm  to  Lucy  : 

"  Shall  I  have  the  honor,  Miss  Mowbray,  of  escorting 
you  into  the  garden  for  the  purpose  of  gathering  some 
roses  to  deck  your  queenly  brow  ?" 

Lucy  would  have  refused ;  but  overcome  with  laugh- 
ter, and  unable  to  resist  the  ludicrous  solemnity  of  Hoff. 
land's  voice  and  manner,  she  placed  her  finger  on  his 
arm,  and  they  walked  into  the  garden. 

Koseland  was  a  delightful  little  cottage,  full  of  flowers, 
and  redolent  of  spring.  It  fronted  south,  and  seemed  to 
be  the  favorite  of  the  sun,  which  shone  through  its  vine- 
embowered  windows  and  lit  up  its  drooping  eaves,  as  it 
nowhere  else  did. 

A  little  passage  led  quite  through  the  house,  and  by 
this  passage  Hoffland  and  his  fair  companion  entered 
the  garden. 

Mowbray  sat  down  and  examined  some  papers  which 
he  took  from  his  pocket ;  then  trained  a  flowering 
vine  from  the  window-sill  to  a  nail  in  the  wall  without, 
for  he  was  very  fond  of  flowers ;  then,  bethinking  him- 


14i  THE   YOUTH  OF  JEFFERSON;    OK, 

self  that  Hoffland  was  his  guest,  turned  to  go  into  the 
garden. 

As  he  did  so,  he  caught  ,sight  of  a  horseman  approach- 
ing the  cottage;  and  soon  this  horseman  drew  near 
enough  to  be  recognised.  It  was  Mr.  John  Denis,  whose 
admiration  for  Miss  Lucy  Mowbray  our  readers  have 
possibly  divined  from  former  pages  of  this  true  history. 

Mr.  t)enis  dismounted  and  entered  the  grounds  of  the 
cottage,  sending  before  him  a  friendly  smile.  Denis  was 
one  of  those  honest,  worthy  fellows,  who  are  as  single- 
minded  as  children,  and  in  whose  eyes  all  men  and 
things  are  just  what  they  seem :  hypocrisy  he  could 
never  understand,  and  it  was  almost  as  difficult  for  the 
worthy  young  man  to  comprehend  irony.  We  have  seen 
an  exemplification  of  this  in  his  affair  with  Hoffland ;  and 
if  our  narrative  permitted  it,  we  might,  by  following 
him  through  his  after  life,  find  many  more  instances  of 
the  same  singleness  of  heart  and  understanding. 

Denis  was  very  tastefully  dressed,  and  his  face  was,  as 
we  have  said,  full  of  smiles.  He  held  out  his  hand  to 
Mowbray  with  honest  warmth,  and  they  entered  the 
cottage. 

The  reader  may  imagine  that  Denis  inquired  as  to  the 
whereabouts  of  Miss  Lucy — his  wandering  glances  not 
having  fallen  upon  that  young  lady.  Not  at  all.  For 
did  ever  lover  introduce  the  subject  of  his  lady-love? 
When  we  are  young,  and  in  love,  do  we  go  to  visit  Dul- 
cinea  or  her  brother  Tom  ?  Is  not  that  agreeable  young 
gentleman  the  sole  attraction  which  draws  us ;  do  we 
not  ride  a  dozen  miles  for  his  sake,  and  has  Dulcinea  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  rapturous  delight  we  experience  in 
dreaming  of  the  month  we  shall  spend  with  Tom  in 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  145 

August  ?  Of  course  not ;  and  Denis  did  not  allude  in 
the  remotest  manner  to  Lucy.  On  the  contrary,  he  be- 
came the  actor  which  love  makes  of  the  truest  men,  and 
said,  with  careless  ease :  • 

"  A  lovely  evening  for  a  ride." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray,  driving  away  his  sad  thoughts ; 
"  why  did  n't  you  come  with  us,  Jack  ?" 

"  With  you  ?" 

"Myself  and  Hoffland." 

"Hoffland!" 

"  Yes  ;  what  surprises  you?" 

"Is  Hoffland  here?' 

Mowbray  nodded. 

Denis  looked  round  ;  and  then  his  puzzled  glance  re- 
turned to  the  face  of  his  friend. 

"  I  do  not  see  him,"  he  said. 

"  He  went  into  the  garden  just  now,"  explained  Mow- 
bray. 

Denis  would  have  given  thousands  to  be  able  to  say, 
"  "Where  is  Lucy  ?"  It  was  utterly  impossible,  however. 
Instead  of  doing  so,  he  asked : 

"  You  came  in  a  buggy  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray. 

"  Is  Hoffland  agreeable — I  mean  a  pleasant  fellow  ?" 

"  I  think  so :  rather  given  to  jesting — and  I  suppose 
this  was  the  origin  of  your  unhappy  difficulty.  Most 
quarrels  spring  from  jests." 

"  True.  I  believe  he  was  jesting ;  in  fact  I  know  it," 
said  poor  Jack  Denis,  wiping  his  brow  and  trying  to 
plunge  his  glance  into  the  depths  of  the  garden,  where 
Lucy  and  Hoffland  were  no  doubt  walking.  "  Still, 
Ernest,  I  could  not  have  acted  differently ;  and  you 
7 


146  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

would  be  the  first  person  to  agree  with  me,  were  I  to  tell 
you  the  subject  of  his  jests." 

And  Denis  frowned. 

"  What  was  it  ?"  said  Mowbray.  "  Hoffland  refused 
point-blank  to  tell  me,  and  I  am  perfectly  ignorant  of 
the  whole  affair." 

Denis  hesitated.  Was  it  fair  and  honest  to  prejudice 
Mowbray  against  the  boy  ?  but  on  the  contrary,  was  not 
the  whole  affair  now  explained  as  a  simple  jest,  and 
would  there  be  harm  in  telling  what  the  young  student 
had  said  to  provoke  him?  The  young  man  hesitated, 
and  said : 

"  I  do  n't  know — it  was  a  mere  jest ;  there  is  no  use  in 
opening  the  subject  again " 

"  Ah,  Jack !"  said  Mowbray,  "  I  see  that  I  am  to  live 
and  die  in  ignorance,  for  I  repeat  that  Hoftland  would 
not  tell  me.  With  all  the  carelessness  of  a  child,  he 
seems  to  possess  the  reserve  of  a  politician  or  a  woman." 

"  A  strange  character,  is  he  not  ?"  said  Denis. 

"  Yes ;  and  yet  he  has  won  upon  me  powerfully." 

"  Your  acquaintance  is  very  short,"  said  poor  Denis, 
his  heart  sinking  at  the  thought  of  having  so  handsome 
and  graceful  a  rival  as  the  boy. 

"  Very,"  returned  Mowbray  ;  "  but  he  positively  took 
me  by  storm." 

"  And  you  like  him  ?" 

"  To  be  sincere — exceedingly." 

"  Why  ?"  muttered  Denis. 

"  Keally,  I  can  scarcely  say,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  but 
he  is  a  mere  boy ;  seems  to  be  wholly  without  friends  ; 
and  he  has  virtually  yielded  to  me  the  guidance  of  all 
his  affairs.  This  may  seem  an  absurd  reason  for  liking 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCKAPES.  147 

Hoffland  ;  but  that  is  just  my  weak  side,  Jack.  When 
any  one  comes  to  me  and  says,  'I  am  weak  and  inex- 
perienced, you  are  in  a  position  to  aid  and  assist  me ;  be 
my  friend  ;'  how  can  I  refuse  ?" 

"And  Hoffland ." 

"  Has  dpne  so  ?     Yes." 

"  Humph !" 

"  Besides  this,  he  is  a  mere  boy  ;  and  to  speak  frankly, 
is  so  affectionate  and  winning  in  his  demeanor  toward 
me,  that  I  really  have  not  the  courage  to  repel  his  ad- 
vances. Strange  young  man !  at  times  I  know  not  what 
to  think  of  him.  He  is  alternately  a  child,  a  woman, 
and  a  matured  man  in  character;  but  most  often  a 
child." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Denis,  whose  heart  sunk  at  every 
additional  word  uttered  by  Mowbray ;  "  how  then  did 
he  display  such  willingness  to  fight — and  I  will  add, 
such  careless  bravado  ?" 

"Because  fighting  was  a  mere  word  to  him,"  said 
Mowbray ;  "  I  believe  that  he  no  more  realized  the  fact 
that  you  would  direct  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  toward  his 
breast,  than  that  you  would  stab  or  poison  him." 

Denis  wiped  his  brow. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  fight,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  was  obliged 
to  do  something." 

"  Was  the  provocation  gross  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Pardon  my  question.  I  did  not  mean  to  return  to 
the  subject,  inasmuch  as  some  reason  for  withholding  the 
particulars  of  the  interview  seems  to  exist  in  your 
mind." 

Denis  hesitated  and  muttered  something  to  himself; 


148  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J   OE, 

then,  raising  his  head  suddenly,  he  added  with  some 
bitterness : 

"  Perhaps  you  may  have  your  curiosity  satisfied  from 
another  source,  Ernest.  I  see  Mr.  Hoffland  approaching 
the  house  with  Miss  Lucy — from  the  garden,  there.  No 
doubt  he  will  tell  you." 

In  fact,  Miss  Lucy  and  Hoffland  were  sauntering  in 
from  the  garden  in  high  glee.  Lucy  from  time  to  time 
burst  into  loud  and  merry  laughter,  clapping  her  hands, 
and  expressing  great  delight  at  something  which  Hoff- 
land was  communicating;  and  Hoffland  was  bending 
down  familiarly  and  whispering  in  her  ear. 

No  sooner,  however,  had  the  promenaders  caught 
sight  of  Mowbray  and  Denis  looking  at  them,  than  their 
manner  suddenly  changed.  Hoffland  drew  back,  and 
raising  his  head  with  great  dignity,  solemnly  offered  his 
arm  to  the  young  girl ;  and  Lucy,  choking  down  her 
merriment  and  puckering  up  her  lips  to  hide  her  laugh- 
ter, placed  her  little  finger  on  the  sleeve  of  her  cavalier. 
And  so  they  approached  the  inmates  of  the  cottage,  with 
quiet  and  graceful  dignity,  like  noble  lord  and  lady ; 
and  entering,  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  sat  down  with 
badly  smothered  laughter. 

"  Really,"  said  Mowbray  smiling,  "  you  will  permit 
me  to  say,  Charles,  that  you  have  a  rare  genius  for  mak- 
ing acquaintance  suddenly  :  Lucy  and  yourself  seem  to 
be  excellent  friends  already." 

And  he  looked  kindly  at  the  boy,  who  smiled. 

"  Friends  ?"  said  Hoffland  ;  "  we  are  cousins !" 

"  Cousins  ?     Indeed  !" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Hoffland,  with  a 
delightful  ease  and  lonhomie.  "  I  have  discovered 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   8CKAPE8.  149 

that  my  great-grandmother  married  the  cousin  of  an 
uncle  of  cousin  Lucy's  great-grandfather's  wife's  aunt ; 
arid  moreover,  that  this  aunt  was  the  niece  of  my  great- 
uncle's  first  wife's  husband.  That  makes  it  perfectly 
plain — do  n't  it,  Mr.  Denis  ?  Take  care  how  you  differ 
with  me  :  cousin  Lucy  understands  it  perfectly,  and  she 
has  a  very  clear  head." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Lucy,  laughing;  "a  great 
compliment." 

"  "Not  at  all,"  said  Hoffland ;  "  some  women  have  a 
great  deal  of  sense— or  at  least  a  good  deal." 

"  Indeed,  sir !" 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  not  their  failing  generally.  « I  have 
taken  up  that  impression  of  you,  cousin  Lucy,  from  our 
general  conversation ;  not  from  your  ability  to  compre- 
hend so  simple  a  genealogical  table  as  that  of  our  rela- 
tionship." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  do  n't  understand  it,"  said  Mow- 
bray,  smiling. 

"Is  it  possible,  Ernest  ?  Listen  again,  then.  My  great- 
grandfather— recollect  him,  now — married  the  uncle  of 
a  cousin — observe,  the  uncle  of  a  cousin " 

"  What !  your  great-grandfather  married  the  uncle  of 
somebody's  cousin?  Is  it  possible?" 

"  Kow  you  are  laughing  at  me,"  said  Hoffland,  pout- 
ing ;  "  what  if  I  did  get  it  a  little  wrong  ?  I  meant  that 
my  great-grandmother  married  the  uncle  of  a  cousin  of 
cousin  Lucy's  wife's  great-grandfather's  aunt — who " 

"  Lucy's  wife  is  then  involved,  is  she,  Charles  ?"  asked 
Mowbray ;  "  but  go  on." 

"  IsTo,  I  won't !"  said  Hoffland  ;  "  you  are  just  trying 
to  confuse  and  embarrass  me.  I  will  not  tell  you  any 


150  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OK, 

more  :  but  cousin  Lucy  understands ;  do  n't  you,  Miss 
Lucy?" 

"  Quite  enough  to  understand  that  we  occupy  a  closer 
relationship  than  we  seem  to,"  said  Lucy,  threatening  to 
burst  into  laughter. 

Hoffland  gave  her  a  warning  glance  ;  and  then  assum- 
ing a  polite  and  graceful  smile,  asked : 

"  Pray,  what  were  you  and  Mr.  Denis  talking  of,  my 
dear  Ernest  ?  Come,  tell  a  fellow !" 

Lucy  turned  away  and  covered  her  face,  which  was 
crimson  with  laughter. 

"  We  were  speaking  of  the  quarrel  which  we  were  un- 
fortunate enough  to  have,  sir,"  said  poor  Denis  coldly ; 
"  and  I  referred  Mr.  Mowbray  to  you  for  an  account  of 
it." 

"  To  me  ?"  said  Hoffland  smiling ;  "  why  not  tell  him 
yourself?" 

"I  did  not  fancy  it,  sir." 

"Why,  in  the  world?" 

"  Come !  come  !"  said  Mowbray  smiling,  and  wishing 
to  nip  the  new  altercation  in  the  bud;  "don't  let  us 
talk  any  more  about  it.  It  is  all  ended  now,  and  I  do  n't 
care  to  know " 

"Why,  there's  nothing  to  conceal,"  said  Hoffland, 
laughing. 

Denis  colored. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  in  an  instant,"  laughed  the  boy. 

Lucy  turned  toward  him ;  and  Denis  looked  out  of 
the  window. 

"  We  were  talking  of  women  first,"  continued  Hoff- 
land ;  "  a  subject,  cousin  Lucy,  which  we  men  discuss 
much  oftener  than  you  ladies  imagine " 


A   CHROSTICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCKAPE8.  151 

**  Indeed !"  said  Lucy,  nearly  choking  with  laughter. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  boy ;  "  and  after  agreeing 
that  Miss  Theorem  the  mathematician  was  charming; 
Miss  Quartz  the  geologist  lovely ;  that  Miss  Affectation 
was  very  pigucvnte,  and  Mrs.  Youngwidow  exceedingly 
fine-looking  in  her  mourning ;  after  having  amicably 
interchanged  our  ideas  on  these  topics,  we  came  to  dis- 
cuss the  celebrated  lunar  theory." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Lucy. 

"  Simply  the  question,  what  the  moon  is  made  of." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Certainly.  Mr.  Denis  took  the  common  and  errone- 
ous view  familiar  to  scientific  men ;  I,  on  the  contrary, 
supported  the  green-cheese  view  of  the  question ;  and 
this  was  the  real  cause  of  our  quarrel.  I  am  sure  Mr. 
Denis  and  myself  are  the  most  excellent  friends  now," 
said  Hoffiand,  turning  with  a  smile  towards  Denis ; 
"  and  we  will  never  quarrel  any  more." 

A  pause  of  some  moments  followed  this  ridiculous  ex- 
planation ;  and  this  pause  was  first  broken  by  Miss  Lucy, 
who  burst  into  the  most  unladylike  laughter,  and  indeed 
shook  from  head  to  foot  in  the  excess  of  her  mirth. 
Mowbray  looked  with  an  amazed  and  puzzled  air  at 
Hoffland,  and  Denis  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  how  to 
look. 

•Lucy,  after  laughing  uninterruptedly  for  nearly  five 
minutes,  suddenly  remembered  the  indecorum  of  this 
strange  exhibition ;  so,  drying  her  eyes,  and  assuming  a 
demure  and  business-like  air,  she  took  a  small  basket  of 
keys,  and  apologizing  for  her  departure,  went  to  attend 
to  supper.  Before  leaving  the  room,  however,  she  glad- 
dened honest  Jack  Denis's  heart  with  a  sweet  smile,  and 


152  THE    YOTJTH   OF  JEFFERSON. 

this  smile  was  so  perfect  a  balm  to  the  wounded  feelings 
of  the  worthy  fellow,  that  his  discontent  and  ill-humor 
disappeared  completely,  and  he  was  almost  ready  to  give 
his  hand  to  his  rival,  Hoffland.  The  same  arrow  had 
mortally  wounded  Jacques  and  Denis. 


CHAPTEE    XX. 

AT   EOSELAND,    IN   THE   EVENING. 

SEATED  on  the  vine-embowered  porch  of  the  cottage, 
with  the  pleasant  airs  of  evening  blowing  from  the 
flowers  their  rich  fragrant  perfume,  the  inmates  of  Kose- 
land  and  their  guests  passed  the  time  in  very  pleasant 
converse. 

From  time  to  time  Hoffland  and  Miss  Lucy  exchanged 
confidential  smiles,  and  on  these  occasions  Mr.  Jack 
Denis,  whose  love-sharpened  eyes  lost  nothing,  felt  very 
unhappy.  Indeed,  throughout  the  whole  evening  this 
gentleman  displayed  none  of  that  alacrity  of  spirit  which 
usually  characterized  him  ;  his  whole  manner,  conversa- 
tion, and  demeanor  betraying  unmistakable  indications 
of  jealous  dissatisfaction. 

Lucy  had  always  been  very  kind  and  gentle  to  him 
before  ;  and  though  her  manner  had  not  changed  toward 
him,  still  her  evident  preference  for  the  society  and  con- 
versation of  the  student  Hoffland  caused  him  a  bitter 
pang.  Denis  sincerely  loved  the  bright-faced  young  girl, 
and  no  one  who  has  not  loved  can  comprehend  the  sink- 
ing of  the  heart  which  preference  for  another  occasions. 
The  last  refinement  of  earthly  torture  is  assuredly 
jealousy — and  Denis  was  beginning  to  suffer  this  tor- 
ture. More  than  once  Lucy  seemed  to  feel  that  she  was 
causing  her  lover  pain ;  and  then  she  would  turn  away, 
from  Hoffland  and  gladden  poor  Denis  with  one  of  her 


154  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;   OK, 

brilliant  smiles,  and  with  some  indifferent  word,  nothing 
in  itself,  but  full  of  meaning  from  its  tone.  Then  Hoff- 
land  would  laugh  quietly  to  himself,  and  touching  the 
young  girl's  arm,  call  her  attention  to  some  beauty  in 
the  waning  sunset,  some  quiet  grace  of  the  landscape  ; 
and  Denis  would  sink  again  into  gloom,  and  look  at 
Hoffland's  handsome  face  and  sigh. 

Mowbray  was  reading  in  the  little  sitting-room,  and 
from  time  to  time  interchanged  words  with  the  party 
through  the  window.  Perhaps  studying  would  be  the 
proper  word  ;  for  it  was  a  profound  work  upon  politics 
which  Ernest  Mowbray,  with  his  vigorous  and  acute  in- 
tellect, was  running  through — grasping  its  strong  points, 
and  throwing  aside  its  fallacies.  He  needed  occupation 
of  mind ;  in  study  alone  could  he  escape  from  the  crowd- 
ing thoughts  which  steeped  his  brow  in  its  habitual 
shadow  of  melancholy.  He  had  lost  a  great  hope,  as  he 
had  told  Hoffland;  and  a  man  does  not  see  the  woman 
whom  he  loves  devotedly  pass  from  him  for  ever  without 
a  pang.  He  may  be  able  to  conceal  his  suifering,  but 
thenceforth  he  cannot  be  gay ;  human  nature  can  only 
control  the  heart  to  a  certain  point ;  we  may  be  calm, 
but  the  sunshine  is  all  gone. 

Thus  the  hours  passed,  with  merry  laughter  from  Hoff- 
land and  Lucy,  and  very  forced  smiles  on  the  part  of 
Denis.  Mowbray  observed  his  silence,  and  closing  the 
volume  he  was  reading,  came  out  and  joined  the  talkers. 

"  What  now  2"  he  said,  with  his  calm  courtesy.  "  Ah, 
you  are  speakiDg  of  the  ball,  Lucy  ?" 

"  Yes,  Ernest ;  and  you  know  you  promised  to  take  me." 

"  Did  you  ?"  asked  Hoffland  ;  "  I  am  afraid  this  is  only 
a  rase  on  cousin  Lucy's  part  to  get  rid  of  me." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  155 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed,  sir,  to  charge  me  with  un- 
truth ?"  said  Lucy,  nearly  bursting  into  laughter. 

"Untruth!"  cried  Hoffland;  "did  any  body  ever! 
Why,  't  is  the  commonest  thing  in  the^orld  with  your 
charming  sex,  Miss  Lucy,  to  indulge  in  these  little  ruses. 
There  must  be  a  real  and  a  conventional  code  of  morals ; 
and  I  hope  you  do  n't  pretend  to  say,  that  if  a  lady  sends 
word  that  she  is  gone  out  when  a  visitor  calls,  she  is 
guilty  of  deception  ?" 

"  I  think  she  is,"  said  Lucy. 

"  Extraordinary  doctrine  !"  cried  Hoffland  ;  "  and  so 
Ernest  has  really  engaged  to  go  with  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  it  was  my  excuse  to  Mr.  Denis,  who  very 
kindly  offered  to  be  my  escort." 

And  Lucy  gave  Jack  Denis  a  little  smile  which  ele- 
vated that  gentleman  into  upper  air. 

"  Well,"  said  Hoffland,  "  I  suppose  then  I  am  to  go 
and  find  somebody  else — a  forlorn  young  man  going  to 
find  a  lady  to  take  care  of  him.  Come,  Miss  Lucy,  can- 
not you  recommend  some  one  ?" 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Lucy,  laughing  gleefully  ;  "  what 
acquaintances  have  you  ?" 

"  Very  few ;  and  I  would  not  escort  any  of  those  sim- 
pering little  damsels  usually  seen  at  assemblies." 

"  What  description  of  damsel  do  you  prefer  ?"  asked 
Lucy,  smiling. 

"  A  fine,  spirited,  amusing  young  lady  like  yourself," 
said  Hoffland ;  "  the  merrier  and  more  ridiculous  the 
better." 

"  Ridiculous,  indeed !  Well,  sir,"  said  Lucy  mis- 
chievously, "I  think  I  have  found  the  very  one  to  suit 
you." 


156  THE    YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OB, 

"  Who  is  it,  pray  ?" 

"MissPhilippa " 

"Stop!"  cried  Hoffland.  "I  never  could  bear  that 
name.  I  am  determined  never  to  court,  -marry,  or 
even  escort  a  Philippa.  Dreadful  name!  And  I 
hope  you  won't  mention  this  Miss  Philippa  Somebody 
again !" 

With  which  words  Hoffland  laughed. 

"  Yery  well,"  said  Lucy ;  "  suppose  you  come  and 
amuse  me  at  the  Ijall — going  thither  alone  ?" 

"  Oh !  myself  and  Mr.  Denis  will  certainly  pay  our 
respects  to  you,  Miss  Lucy.  But  do  not  expect  me  until 
about  twelve." 

Lucy  smiled,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  think  the  ball  will  be  handsome,  Ernest  ?" 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Well,  now,  I  am  going  to  enslave  all  hearts.  I  shall 
wear  my  pink  satin." 

"  Ah !"  laughed  Mowbray  ;  "  that  is  very  interesting 
to  myself  and  these  gentlemen." 

'  "Well,  sir,"  said  Lucy,  pretending  to  be  angry,  "just 
as  you  please ;  but  you  are  a  very  unfeeling  brother. 
Is  n't  he,  Mr.  Hoffland?" 

"  A  most  unreasonable  person,  and  a  disgrace  to  our 
sex,"  said  Hoffland.  "To  tell  a  young  lady  that  the 
manner  in  which  she  proposes  appearing  at  a  ball  is  un- 
interesting, sounds  like  Ernest." 

Mowbray  smiled;  the  pleasant  banter  of  the  boy 
pleased  him,  and  diverted  his  thoughts. 

"  But  Ernest  is  not  such  a  perfect  ogre,  Mr.  Hoffland," 
said  Lucy ;  "  are  you,  Ernest  ?  He  is  very  kind,  and  is 
going  to  spend  all  day  to-morrow  with  me." 


A   CHEONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  157 

Mowbray  shook  his  head. 

"  Now,  brother  1"  said  Lucy ;  "  you  know  you  can." 

Mowbray  hesitated. 

"  Won't  you  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  Lucy,"  said  Mowbray,  smiling ;  "  I  can 
refuse  you  nothing." 

"  Good !"  cried  Hoffland,  with  the  sonorous  voice  of  a 
rnan-at-arms ;  "  when  ladies  once  determine  to  have 
their  own  way,  it  is  nearly  impossible  to  stop  them  ;  is  it 
not,  Mr.  Denis  ?" 

"  I  will  answer  for  Mr.  Denis,  and  repel  your  assault, 
sir,"  said  Lucy,  smiling ;  "  I  think  that  there  is  nothing 
very  wrong  in  what  I  ask,  and  why  then  should  I  not 
have  my  way  ?" 

"  Excellent !"  cried  Hoffland,  with  a  well-satisfied  ex- 
pression, and  a  glance  of  intelligence  directed  toward 
Lucy.  "  I  believe  that  we  men  may  study  all  our 
lives  and  break  our  heads  with  logic  before  we  can 
approach  the  acuteness  of  one  of  these  ladies.  Study 
is  nothing  compared  with  natural  instinct  and  genius!" 

Denis  rose  with  a  sigh. 

"You  remind  me,  Mr.  Hoffland,"  he  said,  "that  I 
have  a  long  chapter  in  Blackstone  to  study ;  and  it  is 
already  late." 

"  And  I  also  have  my  studies,"  said  Hoffland ;  "  I 
think  I  will  return  with  you,  Mr.  Denis." 

"  You  came  to  stay,  Charles !  You  shall  both  stay," 
said  Mowbray,. "  and  I  will  give  you  Blackstone's " 

"  No,  really,  Ernest,"  said  Hoffland,  with  a  business 
air  which  made  Lucy  laugh. 

"  And  indeed  I  must  return,"  said  Denis,  sighing. 

"  Ah,  gentlemen,  gentlemen  !"  said  Mowbray,  "  you 


158  THE  YOUTH*  OF  JEFFERSON. 

pay  a  fashionable  call.  Why,  Charles,  you  absolutely 
promised  to  stay." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  said  the  boy, 
looking  toward  Lucy ;  "  and  if  Mr.  Denis  will  ride  with 
me  in  your  curricle,  or  whatever  it  is,  you  might  ride 
his  horse  in,  in  the  morning." 

"  Yery  well,"  said  Mowbray. 

"  Willingly,"  said  Denis. 

"  Then  it  is  all  arranged  ;  and  I  return.  Do  n't  press 
me,  Ernest,  my  good  fellow.  When  duty  calls,  every 
man  must  be  at  his  post.  I  can't  stay." 

And  Hoffland  laughed. 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  vehicle  was  brought  round,  and 
the  two  young  men  rose. 

Denis  bowed  with  some  constraint  to  Lucy ;  but  she 
would  not  see  this  expression,  and  holding  out  her  hand 
bade  him  good-bye  with  a  smile  which  lighted  his  path 
all  the  way  back  to  town. 

Hoffland  shook  hands  with  Lucy  too ;  and  a  laughing 
glance  of  free  masonry  passed  between  them. 

Then,  entering  the  vehicle,  the  two  young  men  set 
forth  toward  Williamsburg,  over  which  a  beautiful  moon 
was  rising  like  a  crimson  cart-wheel.  Ernest  Mowbray 
stood  for  a  moment  on  the  porch  of  the  cottage  following 
the  receding  vehicle  with  his  eyes.  At  last  it  disap- 
peared— the  sonnd  of  the  wheels  was  no  longer  heard, 
and  Mowbray  entered  the  cottage. 

"  Strange !"  he  murmured,  "  that  memory  still  haunts 
me.  What  folly !" 

And  pressing  his  lips  to  Lucy's  forehead,  he  retired 
to  his  study. 


CHAPTEK    XXI. 

DISGRACEFUL   CONDUCT   OF   SIR   ASINUS. 

MOWBRAY  was  an  early  riser;  and  the  morning 
had  not  long  looked  upon  the  fresh  fields,  when  he 
was  on  his  way  to  Williamsburg.  With  a  hopeful 
spirit,  which  banished  peremptorily  all  those  gloomy 
thoughts  which  were  accustomed  to  harass  him,  he 
pressed  on  to  commence  his  day  of  toil  at  the  college. 

As  he  entered  Williamsburg,  he  came  very  near 
being  overturned  by  a  gentleman  who  was  leaving  that 
metropolitan  city,  at  full  gallop. 

"  Hey !"  cried  this  gentleman,  reining  up ;  "  why,  good 
.day,  Mowbray  !" 

And  Sir  Asinus  made  a  bow  of  grotesque  respect. 

"  Whither  away,  my  dear  fellow — to  that  den  of  in- 
iquity, the  grammar  school,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray,  smiling ;  "and  you  ?" 

"  I  go  to  other  fields  and  pastures  new — to  those  Hes- 
perian gardens  famed  of  old,  and  so  forth.  Come  with 
me!" 

"No,  thank  you.  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  see  a 
lady?" 

"  Precisely ;  and  now  do  you  still  refuse  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  an  ungallant  book-worm,  a  misogynist — 
and  that  is  the  next  thing  to  a  conspirator.  Leave  your 
books,  and  come  and  taste  of  sylvan  joys." 


160  THE  YOUTH  OF  JEFFEKSON ;  OB, 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

«  To  see  Dulcinea." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Her  other  name  is  Amaryllis." 

"  Well,  sing  to  her,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  for  my  part,  I 
am  going  to  visit  Plato,  Justinian,  Blackstone,  whose 
lectures  are  better  than  Yirgil's  heroics,  and  Coke,  who 
is  more  learned,  if  not  more  agreeable,  than  any  Hespe- 
rians.  Farewell." 

And  Mowbray  saluted  Sir  Asinus  with  a  smile,  and 
rode  on.  The  knight  returned  his  salute,  and  continued 
his  way  in  the  opposite  direction. 

Now,  as  our  history  concerns  itself  rather  with  Ama- 
ryllis than  Plato  or  Coke,  we  shall  permit  Mowbray  to 
go  on,  and  retracing  our  steps,  follow  Sir  Asinus  to  his 
destination. 

Sir  Asinus  on  this  morning  is  magnificent,  and  finds 
the  air  very  pleasant  after  his  long  imprisonment.  He 
inhales  it  joyously,  and  in  thought,  nay,  often  in  words, 
invokes  confusion  on  the  heads  of  proctors.  He  is  in 
full  enjoyment  of  those  three  great  rights  for  which  he 
has  sacrificed  so  much — namely,  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  happiness. 

He  is  joyous,  for  he  has  stolen  a  march  upon  the 
watchful  guardians  of  the  college ;  he  revels  in  the  sen- 
timent of  freedom ;  and  believes  himself  in  pursuit  of 
that  will  o'  the  wisp  called  happiness. 

He  sings,  as  he  goes  onward  on  his  hard-trotting 
courser,  the  words  of  that  song  which  we  have  heard  him 
sing  before : 

"  Hez !  sire  asne !  car  chantez 
Belle  bouche  rechignez ;" 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  161 

and  is  not  mortified  when  a  donkey  in  the  neighboring 
meadow  brays  responsively. 

He  bends  his  steps  toward  Shadynook,  where  he  ar- 
rives as  the  matutinal  meal  is  smoking  on  the  board ; 
and  this  Sir  Asinus  partakes  of  with  noble  simplicity. 
One  would  have  imagined  himself  in  presence  of  Socra- 
tes dining  upon  herbs,  instead  of  Sir  Asinus  comforting 
his  inner  man  with  ham  and  muffins. 

After  breakfast,  Aunt  Wimple,  that  excellent  old  lady 
whose  life  was  completely  filled  by  a  round  of  domes- 
tic duties,  banished  her  visitor  to  the  sitting-room.  To 
make  his  exile  more  tolerable,  however,  she  gave  him 
Belle-bouche  for  a  companion. 

Belle-bouche  had  never  looked  more  beautiful,  and 
the  tender  simplicity  of  her  languishing  eyes  almost 
made  the  poetical  Sir  Asinus  imagine  himself  in  love. 
He  found  himself  endeavoring  to  recollect  whether  he 
had  not  been  induced  to  pay  this  visit  by  the  expectation 
of  beholding  her ;  but  with  that  rigid  truth  which  ever 
characterized  the  operations  of  his  great  intellect,  was 
compelled  to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  motive 
causes  of  his  visit  were  the  hope  of  a  good  break- 
fast, and  a  morning  lounge  in  country  quarters,  una- 
larmed  by  the  apprehension  of  invading  deans  and  proc- 
tors. 

In  a  word,  our  friend  Sir  Asinus  had  coveted  a  cool 
morning  at  pleasant  Shadynook,  in  company  with  Belle- 
bouche  or  a  novel ;  and  this  had  spurred  him  to  such 
extraordinary  haste,  not  to  mention  the  early  rising. 

"  Ah !"  said  Belle-bouche,  as  she  sat  down  upon  a  sofa 
in  the  cool  pleasant  apartment,  whose  open  windows 
permitted  the  odors  of  a  thousand  flowers  to  weigh  the 


162  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  J    OR, 

air  down  with  their  fragrance,  "  what  a  lovely  morning ! 
It  is  almost  wrong  to  remain  in  the  house." 

"  Let  us  go  forth  then,  my  dear  Madam  Belle-bouche,'' 
said  Sir  Asinus. 

"  I  see  you  retain  that  funny  name  for  me,"  said  the 
young  girl  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes :  it  is  beautiful,  as  all  about  Shadynook  is — the 
garden  most  of  all — yourself  excepted  of  course,  madam." 

"It  was  very  adroitly  done,  that  turn  of  the  sentence,'* 
Belle-bouche  replied,  smiling  again  pleasantly.  "  Let  us 
go  into  the  garden,  as  you  admire  it  so  much." 

And  she  rose. 

Sir  Asinus  hastened  to  oifer  his  arm,  and  they  entered 
the  beautiful  garden,  alive  with  flowers. 

Sir  Asinus  uttered  a  number  of  beautiful  sentiments 
on  the  subject  of  flowers  and  foliage,  which  we  regret 
our  inability  to  report.  After  spending  an  hour  or  more 
among  the  trees,  they  returned  to  the  house. 

Just  as  they  entered,  a  gentleman  was  visible  at  the 
gate — evidently  a  visitor.  This  gentleman  had  dismount- 
ed, and  as  he  stood  behind  his  horse  arranging  the  mar- 
tingale, he  was  for  the  moment  unrecognisable. 

""Will  you  permit  me  to  remain  in  the  garden,  my 
dear  Miss  Belle-bouche,  until  your  visitor  has  departed?" 
said  Sir  Asinus.  "  I  find  myself  suddenly  smitten  with  a 
love  of  nature — and  I  would  trouble  you  not  to  mention 
the  fact  of  my  presence.  It  will  be  useless." 

"  Certainly  I  will  not,  sir,"  said  Belle-bouche. 

And  Sir  Asinus,  seeing  the  gentleman  move,  precipi- 
tately entered  the  garden,  where  he  ignominiously  con- 
cealed himself— having  snatched  up  a  volume  of  poems 
to  console  him  in  his  retirement. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  163 

The  visitor  was  Jacques. 

He  entered  with  his  soft  melancholy  smile,  and  ap- 
proaching Belle-bouche,  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips, 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  bright,"  he  said ;  "  but  you 
always  look  blooming." 

And  he  sat  down  and  gazed  around  sadly. 

Perhaps  Jacques  had  never  before  so  closely  resem- 
bled a  tulip.  His  coat  was  red,  his  waistcoat  scarlet, 
his  lace  yellow,  his  stockings  white;  his  shoes,  lastly, 
were  adorned  with  huge  rosettes,  and  his  wig  was  a  per- 
fect snow-storm  of  powder. 

Belle-bouche  casts  down  her  eyes,  and  a  roseate  bloom 
diffuses  itself  over  her  tender  cheek.  Jacques  arrays  his 
forces,  and  gracefully  smooths  his  Mechlin  lace  cravat. 
Outwardly  he  is  calm. 

Belle-bouche  raises  her  eyes,  and  gently  flirts  her  fan, 
covered  with  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  in  silks  and 
satins,  who  tend  imaginary  sheep  by  sky-blue  waters, 
against  deeply  emerald  trees. 

Jacques  sighs,  remembering  his  discourse  on  crooks, 
and  Belle-bouche  smiles.  He  gathers  courage  then,  and 
says : 

"  I  think  I  have  never  seen  a  more  beautiful  morn- 
ing." 

"  Yes,"  says  Belle-bouche  in  her  soft  tender  voice,  "  I 
have  been  out  to  take  my  customary  walk  before  break- 
fast." 

"  An  excellent  habit.  The  fields  are  the  true  abodes 
of  the  Graces  and  Muses ;  all  is  so  fresh." 

Belle-bouche  smiles  at  this  graceful  and  classic  com- 
pliment ;  but  strange  to  say,  does  not  feel  disposed  to 
criticise  it.  Jacques  has  never  seemed  to  her  so  intel- 


164  ,  THE   YOUTH   OP  JEFFERSON  ;    OP 

lectual  a  man,  so  true  a  gentleman  as  at  this  moment. 
The  reason  is  that  Belle-bouche  has  caught  a  portion  of 
her  visitor's  disease — a  paraphrase  which  we  are  com- 
pelled to  make  use  of,  from  the  well-known  fact  that 
damsels  are  never  what  is  vulgarly  called  "in  love," 
until  the  momentous  question  has  been  asked ;  after 
which,  as  we  all  know,  this  sentiment  floods  their  tender 
hearts  with  a  sudden  rush,  as  of  unloosed  waters. 

Jacques  sees  the  impression  he  has  made,  and  in  his 
secret  heart  is  flushed  with  anticipated  conquest.  He 
smooths  his  frill,  and  gently  arranges  a  drop  curl. 

"  Love,  I  think,  should  inhabit  the  green  fields,"  he 
says  with  melancholy  grace;  "for  love,  dearest  Miss 
Bell-bouche,  is  the  essence  of  freshness  and  delight." 

"The — fields?"  says  Belle-bouche,  thoughtfully  gazing 
upon  her  fan. 

"  Yes ;  and  the  shepherd's  life  is  certainly  the  happiest. 
Ah !  to  love  and  be  loved  under  the  skies — in  Arcady ! 
But  Arcady  is  everywhere  when  the  true  heart  is  near. 
To  love  and  be  loved !"  says  Jacques  with  a  sad  sigh ; 
"to  know  there  is  one  near  you  whose  whole  heart  is 
yours — whose  bosom  would  willingly  support  the  weary 
head ;  to  have  a  heart  to  bring  all  your  sorrows  to  ;  to 
feel  that  the  sky  was  brighter,  and  all  the  stars  more 
friendly  and  serene,  if  she  were  by  you;  to  love  and 
love,  and  never  change,  and  live  a  life  of  happy  dreams, 
however  active  it  might  be,  when  the  dear  image  swept 
across  the  horizon  !  To  give  the  heart  and  mind  out  in 
a  sigh,  and  seal  the  vow  of  faith  and  truth  upon  loving 
lips !  In  a  word — one  word  speaks  it  all — to  love  !  Yes, 
yes !  to  love !  To  feel  the  horizon  expand  around  you 
till  it  seems  to  embrace  every  thing  ;  to  love  innocently, 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   BCKAPE8.  165 

purely,  under  the  holy  heavens  ;  to  love  till  the  dying 
hour,  and  then,  clasped  in  a  pure  embrace,  to  go  away 
together  to  another  world ! — Only  to  love !" 

And  Jacques  raises  his  eyes  to  the  blushing  face  of 
Belle-bouche. 

"Is  it  not  fair  to  think  of?"  he  says  sadly. 

She  tries  to  smile,  and  can  only  murmur,  "  Yes." 

"  I  fear  it  is  but  a  dream,"  says  Jacques. 

She  does  not  reply :  she  wishes  a  moment  to  collect 
her  thoughts  and  regain  her  calmness. 

"  A  dream,"  he  continues,  "  which  many  poor  fellows 
dream,  and  live  in,  and  make  a  reality  of — alas  !  never 
to  be  realized." 

"  Perhaps  the  world  has  changed  since  the  old  Arca- 
dian days,"  murmurs  Belle-bouche,  gazing  down  with 
rosy  cheeks,  and  a  bad  attempt  at  ease.  "  You  know  the 
earth  has  become  different."  * 

"Yes,  yes,"  sighs  Jacques  ;  "  I  very  much  fear  all  this 
is  folly." 

"  Who  knows  but " 

She  pauses. 

Jacques  raises  his  eyes,  and  their  glances  meet.  She 
stops  abruptly,  and  looks  away.  It  is  not  affectation  in 
her.  That  deep  blush  is  wholly  irrepressible. 

Jacques  seizes  her  hand,  and  says : 

"  Give  me  the  assurance  that  such  things  can  be ! 
Tell  me  that  this  dream  could  be  realized !" 

She  turns  away. 

"  Tell  me !"  he  continues,  bending  toward  her,  "  tell 
me,  if  /  were  to  love  any  one  thus — say  it  were  yourself 
• — tell  me,  beautiful  Belle-bouche !  could  I  hope " 

"  Oh,  sir !  I  cannot  now— — " 


166  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

"  Belle-bouche  !  dearest  Belle-bouche ! — my  picture 
was  a  reality — I  love  as  I  have  painted — and  upon  my 

knees " 

" car  chantez, 

Belle  bouche  rechignez," 

sang  the  voice  of  Sir  Asinus,  entering  from  the  garden ; 
and  our  unfortunate  friend  Jacques  had  just  time  to 
drop  Belle-bouche's  hand,  when  sir  Asinus  entered. 

"You're  a  pretty  fellow  I"  said  that  worthy,  "to 
frighten  me,  and  make  me  believe  you  were  the — Well ; 
let  us  keep  up  appearances  before  the  ladies.  How  goes 
it,  my  dear  Jacques  2" 

Jacques  does  not  answer;  he  feels  an  unchristian 
desire  to  exterminate  his  friend  Sir  Asinus  from  the 
face  of  the  earth — to  blot  that  gentleman  forcibly  from 
the  sum  of  things. 

Actuated  by  these  friendly  feelings,  he  gives  the  knight 
a  look  which  nearly  takes  his  breath  away. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  says  Sir  Asinus. 

Jacques  sees  the  false  position  which  he  occupies,  and 
groans. 

"  Why,  dear  Jacques,  you  distress  me,"  says  Sir  Asi- 
nus with  great  warmth ;  "  did  I  tread  upon  your  toes  ?" 

Jacques  might  very  justly  reply  in  the  affirmative,  but 
he  only  turns  away  muttering  disconsolately,  "  One  more 
chance !" 

"I  thought  you  were  the  proctor,"  says  Sir  Asinus 
pleasantly. 

"  Did  you?  I  am  going  back  soon,  and  will  send  him," 
replies  Jacques  with  sad  courtesy. 

"No!  don't  trouble  yourself!"  cries  Sir  Asinus;  "it 
is  not  necessary." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  167 

"  It  is  no  trouble,"  says  Jacques ;  "  but  as  you  are 
probably  about  to  return  to  town  yourself,  I  will  not 
send  him." 

"To  town?  Indeed,  I  am  about  to  do  no  such  thing. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  one  gets  a  taste  of  the  coun- 
try." 

"You  stay?" 

"Yes." 

Jacques  groans,  and  imprecates — sleep  to  descend 
upon  his  friend. 

He  sits  down  wofully.  Sir  Asinus  scenting  the  joke, 
and  determined  to  revenge  himself,  does  the  same  joy- 
fully. Jacques  sighs,  Sir  Asinus  laughs.  Jacques  di- 
rects an  Olympian  frown  at  his  opponent,  but  Sir  Asinus 
answers  it  with  smiles. 

Belle-bouche  all  this  time  has  been  endeavoring  to 
produce  the  impression  that  she  is  looking  over  a  book 
of  engravings — being  interested  in  Heidelberg,  and  fas- 
cinated with  the  Alhambra.  From  time  to  time  her 
timid  glance  steals  toward  Jacques,  who  is  sighing,  or 
toward  Sir  Asinus,  who  is  laughing. 

Sir  Asinus  glories  in  his  revenge.  Jacques  refused  to 
tell  him  the  news,  and  maligned  his  character  to  the 
Doctor,  and  forced  him  to  listen  in  silence  to  that  abuse. 
He  takes  his  promised  revenge — for  he  understands  veiy 
well  what  he  interrupted. 

Jacques  stays  all  the  morning,  hoping  that  Sir  Asi- 
nus will  depart ;  but  that  gentleman  betrays  no  inten- 
tion of  vacating  the  premises.  "Finally,  in  a  paroxysm 
of  internal  rage,  and  a  perfect  outward  calmness,  the 
graceful  Jacques  retires — with  a  last  look  for  Belle- 
bouche. 


168 


THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON. 


One  thought  consoles  him.  He  will  escort  her  to  the 
ball,  and  on  his  return  in  his  two-seated  curriculum  defy 
the  interruption  of  all  the  Asinuses  that  ever  lived. 

Poor  Jacques !  as  he  goes  sadly  back,  the  cloud  riding 
upon  the  dream  is  more  asleep  than  ever. 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

HOW  HOFFLANT>  PKEFEKRED  A  GLOVE   TO  A  DOZEN  PISTOLES. 

ONE  of  the  most  beautiful  walks  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Williamsburg  was  known  to  the  fair  dames  and 
gallant  cavaliers  of  :that  epoch  as  the  "  Indian  Camp." 

To  this  spot;  on  the  morning  of  the  day  fixed  for  the 
ball  at  the  Raleigh,  did  Mowbray  and  the  young  student 
Hoffland  direct  their  steps,  conversing  pleasantly,  and 
glad  of  the  occasion  to  enjoy  the  fresh  beauties  of  nature, 
which  presented  so  agreeable  a  contrast  to  the  domains 
of  study  at  the  good  College  of  William  and  Mary.  Let 
it  not,  however,  be  imagined  that  the  boy  Hoffland  was 
in  the  habit,  as  Panurge  said,  of  "  breaking  his  head 
with  study."  Not  at  all.  The  remissness  of  that  young 
gentleman  in  his  attendance  upon  the  lectures  of  the 
professors,  had  become  by  this  time  almost  a  proverb. 
Indeed,  his  attendance  was  the  exception — his  absence 
the  rule.  Buried  in  his  quarters,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Gloucester  street,  he  seemed  to  exist  in  a  pleasant  dis- 
regard of  all  the  rules  and  regulations  of^the  college ; 
and  when  the  professors  attempted  to  reason  with  him — 
which  was  seldom,  inasmuch  as  they  scarcely  ever  saw 
him — he  would  acknowledge  his  sins  very  readily,  and 
as  readily  promise  amendment ;  and  then,  after  the 
well-known  fashion  of  sinners,  return  to  his  evil  courses, 
and  become  more  remiss  than  ever. 
8 


170  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFEKSON  ;    OK, 

Mowbray  would  often  remonstrate  with  him  on  this 
neglect  of  his  studies  ;  but  Hoffland  always  turned  aside 
his  advice  with  some  amusing  speech,  or  humorous*ban- 
ter.  When  the  elder  student  said,  "  Now,  Charles,  as 
your  friend  I  counsel  you  not  to  throw  away  your  time 
and  dissipate  your  mind;"  to  this  Hoffland  would  re- 
ply, "  Yes,  you  are  right,  Ernest ;  the  morning,  as  you 
say,  is  lovely."  Or  when  Mowbray  would  say,  "  Charles, 
you  are  incorrigible ;"  "  Yes,"  Hoffland  would  reply, 
with  his  winning  smile,  "  I  knew  how  much  you  liked 
me." 

On  the  fine  morning  to  which  we  have  now  arrived, 
the  conversation  of  the  friends  took  exactly  this  direc- 
tion. Hoffland  for  two  or  three  days  had  obstinately 
kept  away  from  the  college,  and  "  non  est  inventus"  was 
the  substance  of  the  proctor's  return  when  he  was  sent 
to  drum  up  the  absent  student. 

"  Indeed,  Charles,"  said  Mowbray,  with  his  calm  sad- 
ness, "  you  should  not  thus  allow  your  time  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  indolent  lounging.  A  man  has  his  career  in 
the  world  to  run,  and  college  is  the  threshold.  If  you 
enter  the  world  ignorant  and  awkward — and  the  great- 
est genius  is  awkward  if  ignorant — you  will  find  the 
mere  fops  of  the  day  pass  you  in  the  course.  They  may 
be  superficial,  shallow,  but  they  have  cultivated  their 
natural  gifts,  while  you  have  not  done  so.  They  enter 
gracefully,  and  succeed ;  you  will  enter  awkwardly,  and 
fail." 

"  A  fine  Mentor  you  are  !"  replied  Hoffland ;  "  and  I 
ought  to  be  duly  grateful  for  your  excellent  advice." 

"  It  is  that  of  a  friend." 

"  I  know  it." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  171 

"  A  very  true  friend." 

"Yes,"  Hoffland  said,  "I  am  convinced  that  your 
friendship  for  me  is  very  true.  Strange  you  should  like 
me  so !" 

"  I  think  not :  you  are  by  yourself  here,  and  I  am 
naturally  attracted  always  by  inexperience.  I  find  great 
freshness  of  thought  and  feeling  in  you,  Charles " 

"-Do  you?" 

"  And  more  still,"  said  Mowbray,  smiling  sadly  ;  "  I 
think  you  love  me." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Hoffland,  turning  away  his  face. 

"  Yes  ;  you  gravitated  toward  me ;  but  I  equally  to 
yourself.  And  now  I  think  you  begin  to  have  a  sincere 
affection  for  me." 

"  Begin,  indeed !" 

Mowbray  smiled. 

"  I  am  glad  you  liked  me  from  the  first  then,"  he 
said.  "I  am  sure  I  cannot  explain  my  sudden  liking  for 
yourself." 

"  But  I  can,"  said  Hoffland,  laughing ;  "  we  were  con- 
genial, my  dear  fellow — chips  of  the  same  block — com- 
panions of  similar  tastes.  You  liked  what  was  graceful 
and  elegant,  which  of  course  you  found  in  me.  I  have 
always  experienced  a  passionate  longing  for  truth  and 
nobility ;  and  this,  Ernest,  I  find  in  you !" 

Iloffland's  tone  had  lost  all  its  banter  as  he  uttered 
these  words ;  and  if  Mowbray  had  seen  the  look  which 
the  boy  timidly  cast  upon  his  pale  countenance,  he  would 
have  started. 

But  Hoffland  regained  his  lightness  almost  immedi- 
ately ;  his  earnestness  passed  away,  and  he  was  the  same 
light-hearted  boy. 


172  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;   OR, 

"  Look !"  he  cried,  "  that  oriole  is  going  to  die  for  joy 
as  he  swings  among  the  cherry  blossoms !  How  green 
the  grass  is — what  a  lovely  landscape  1" 

And  Hoffland  gazed  rapturously  at  the  green  fields, 
and  blossom-covered  trees,  and  the  distant  river  flowing 
on  in  gladness  to  the  sea,  with  the  kindling  eye  of  a  true 
poet. 

"  And  here  is  the  '  Indian  Camp  !' "  he  cried ;  "  grassy, 
antique,  and  romantic !" 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Mowbray. 

And  seating  himself  upon  a  moss-covered  stone,  he 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand  and  pondered. 

"  Now,  I  '11  lay  a  wager  you  are  thinking  about  me  !" 
cried  Hoffland  ;  "  perhaps  you  still  revolve  in  your  mind 
my  various  delinquencies." 

"No,"  said  Mowbray. 

"  I  know  I  am  very  bad — very  remiss.  I  ought  to 
have  been  at  college  this  morning,  but  I  was  not  able  to 
come." 

"  Why,  Charles  ?"  said  Mowbray,  raising  his  head. 

"  I  was  busy." 

"  Indeed !" 

"Yes,  reading." 

"Ah!  not  studying?" 

"  No  ;  unless  Shakspeare  is  study."  -^ 

"  It  is  a  very  hard  study,  but  not  the  sort  which  I 
would  have  •  you  apply  yourself  to.  What  were  you 
reading?" 

"  '  As  You  Like  It,'"  said  Hoffland  ;  «  and  I  was  really 
charmed  with  the  fair  Kosalind." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray  indifferently  ;  "  a  wonderful 
character,  such  as  Shakspeare  only  could  draw." 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  COLLEGE  SCKAPES.  173 

"  And  as  good  as  she  was  wild — as  maidenly  as  she 
was  pure." 

Mowbray  shook  his  head. 

"  That  foray  she  made  into  the  woods  en  cmalier  was 
a  very  doubtful  thing,"  he  said. 

"  Why,  pray  ?"  Hoffland  asked,  pouting.  "  I  should 
like  to  know  what  there  was  wrong  in  it." 

Mowbray  smiled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Answer  me,"  said  Hoffland. 

"  That  is  easy.  Do  you  think  it  wholly  proper,  per- 
fectly maidenly,  for  a  woman  to  assume  the  garb  of  our 
sex?" 

"  Certainly ;  why  not,  sir  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled  again. 

"  I  fear  any  argument  would  only  fortify  you  in  your 
convictions,  as  our  rebel  student  says,"  he  replied. 
"True,  Eosalind  was  the  victim  of  circumstances,  but 
her  example  is  one  of  an  exceedingly  doubtful  nature,  or 
rather  it  is  not  at  all  doubtful." 

"  Pray,  how  ?" 

"Eeally,  Charles,  you  make  me  give  a  reason  for 
every  thing.  "Well  then,  I  think  that  it  is  indelicate  in 
women  to  leave  their  proper  sphere  and  descend  to  the 
level  of  men,  and  this  any  woman  must  do  in  assuming 
the  masculine  garb.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  common 
law  bears  me  out,  and  inflicts  a  penalty  upon  such 
deviations  from  established  usage.  None  but  an  inex- 
perienced youth  like  yourself  would  uphold  Rosalind." 

Hoffland  colored,  and  said  with  bitter  abruptness  : 

"  I  believe  you  despise  me,  sir !" 

"  Despise  you !    Why  ?"  said  the  astonished  Mowbray. 

"Because — because — you  call  me  an  inexperienced 


174:  THE  YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;    OB, 

youth  ;  and — and — Ernest,  it  is  not  friendly  in  yon  ! — 
no,  it  is  not ! — it  is  unjust — to  treat  me  so !" 

And  Hoffland  turned  away  like  a  child  who  is  about 
to  "  have  a  cry." 

Mowbray  looked  at  the  averted  face  for  a  moment, 
and  saw  two  large  tears  clinging  to  the  long  dusky 
lashes.  He  experienced  a  strange  sensation  in  the  pres- 
ence of  this  boy  which  he  could  not  explain  ;  it  was  half 
pity  for  his  nervous  weakness  of  temperament,  half  re- 
gret at  having  uttered  he  knew  not  what,  to  move  him. 

"  Well,  well,  Charles,"  he  said,  "  yours  is  a  strange 
character,  and  I  never  know  how  to  shape  my  discourse 
in  your  presence.  You  fly  off  at  every  thing,  and  I  be- 
lieve you  are  really  shedding  tears " 

"No,  no,"  said  Hoffland,  hastily  brushing  away  the 
pearly  drops  ;  "  do  n't  look  at  me." 

"  I  was  wrong." 

Hoffland  sobbed. 

"  Forgive  me,  Charles — I  will  endeavor  in  future  to 
avoid  these  occasions  of  dispute ;  forgive  my  harsh- 


"  You  are  forgiven,"  murmured  Hoffland ;  and  his 
sad  face  became  again  cheerful. 

"  I  am  not  a  very  pleasant  companion,  I  know,"  said 
Mowbray,  smiling ;  "  my  own  thoughts  oppress  me  ;  but 
if  I  cannot  be  merry  with  you,  I  may  at  least  forbear  to 
wound  your  feelings." 

"  My  feelings  are  not  wounded,  Ernest,"  Hoffland 
said,  with  a  bright  glance  which  shone  like  the  sun  after 
an  April  shower;  "I  only — only — thought  you  were 
not  right  in  abusing  Rosalind  ;  and — and  calling  me  '  an 
inexperienced  youth !'  I  am  not  an  inexperienced  youth," 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  175 

he  laughed ;  "  but  let  us  dismiss  the  subject.  What  op- 
presses you,  Ernest  ?  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  sad." 

"  My  thoughts,"  said  Mowbray. 

"  That  is  too  general." 

"  It  is  useless  to  particularize." 

And  Mowbray's  head  drooped.  As  the  pleasant  May 
breeze  raised  the  locks  of  his  dark  hair,  his  face  looked 
very  pale  and  sad. 

"The  subject  of  our  discourse  in  the  fields  some  days 
since  ?"  asked  Hoffland  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray  calmly. 

A  long  silence  followed  this  reply.  Then  Hoffland 
said : 

"Why  should  that  still  annoy  you?  Men  should  be 
strong." 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"  And  yet  you  are  weak." 

"  In  my  heart,  very  weak."  ^ 

"  You  love  her  still «" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  deeply,  passionately,  far  more  than  ever  !" 
said  Mowbray,  unable  to  repress  this  outburst. 

Hoffland  seemed  to  be  frightened  by  the  vehemence 
of  his  companion,  for  he  turned  away  his  head,  and 
colored  to  the  temples. 

"  Can  you  not  conquer  your  feelings  ?"  he  said  at 
length. 

"  No." 

"  Make  the  attempt." 

"  I  have  made  it." 

"  Why  not  go  and  see  her  again  then  ?  You  will  lose 
nothing." 

"  Go  and  see  her  ?     What !  after  being  repelled  with 


176  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  J   OB, 

so  much  insult  and  coldness ! — after  being  charged  with 
base  and  mercenary  motives ! — after  having  my  heart 
struck  by  a  cruel  and  unfeeling  accusation — my  pride 
humbled  by  a  misconception  as  humiliating  as  it  was 
unjust !  Never,  Charles!  My  heart  may  break — I  may 
feel  through  life  the  bitterness  of  the  fate  which  sepa- 
rates us  for  ever — I  may  groan  and  rebel  and  struggle 
with  my  heart — but  never  again  will  I  address  one  syl- 
lable to  that  proud  girl,  who  has  trampled  on  me,  as 
she  would  upon  a  worm,  and  told,  me  how  degraded  a 
being  I  was  in  her  eyes — no,  never !" 

And  pale,  his  forehead  bathed  with  perspiration,  his 
frame  agitated,  his  eyes  full  of  fire  and  regret,  Mowbray 
turned  away  his  head  and  rose. 

Hoffland  was  silent,  and  yet  the  deep  color  in  his 
cheeks  betrayed  the  impression  which  his  companion's 
passionate  words  had  made  upon  him. 

In  a  few  moments  Mowbray  had  regained  his  calm- 
ness. 

"Pardon  me,  Charles,  for  annoying  you  with  these 
things,"  he  said,  with  a  last  tremor  in  his  voice ;  "  but 
your  question  prompted  me  to  speak.  Let  us  not  re- 
turn to  this  subject ;  it  afflicts  me  to  speak  of  it,  and 
there  is  no  good  reason  why  I  should  revive  my  suifer- 
ings.  Let  us  go  back,  and  endeavor  in  the  pleasant 
sunshine  to  find  some  balm  for  all  our  grief.  I  do  not 
despair  of  conquering  my  passion,  for  all  things  are  pos- 
sible to  human  energy — this  far  at  least.  Come,  let  us 
return." 

Calmly  buttoning  his  coat,  Mowbray  took  Chjarles's 
arm,  and  they  bent  their  way  back  to  town. 

As  for  Hoffland,  he  seemed  overcome  by  the  vehe- 


A  CHEONICI.E   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  177 

mence  of  his  companion,  and  for  some  time  was  com- 
pletely silent.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking. 

As  they  approached  the  town,  however,  his  spirits 
seemed  to  regain  their  customary  cheerftdness,  and  he 
smiled. 

"  Well,  well,  Ernest,"  he  said,  «  perhaps  your  grief 
may  be  cured  in  some  other  way  than  by  strangulation. 
Let  us  not  speak  further  of  it,  but  admire  the  beautiful 
day.  Is  it  not  sweet  ?" 

"  Very,"  said  Mowbray  calmly. 

"  It  is  getting  warm." 

"  Yes,  Charles ;  summer  is  not  far  distant." 

"  Summer !  I  always  liked  the  summer ;  but  we 
have  not  then  those  beautiful  blossoms — look  how  they 
cluster  on  the  boughs,  and  what  a  sweet  perfume  !" 

"  Very  sweet." 

"Then  another  drawback  of  summer  is  its  dust.  I 
hate  dust;  and  it  is  already  beginning  to  invade  my 
hands." 

"  Wear  gloves  then,  Charles,"  said  Mowbray,  smiling 
at  the  boyish  naivete  of  his  companion's  tone. 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  how  I  can,  without  the  money  to 
buy  them,"  said  Hoffland ;  "  you  are  very  unreasonable, 
Mr.  Mowbray !" 

Mowbray  smiled. 

"  Have  you  none  ?"  he  said. 

"  Not  a  penny — at  the  moment.  My  supplies  have 
not  reached  my  new  address." 

And  Hoffland  laughed. 

"  Let  me  lend  you  some.  How  much  will  you  have  ? 
We  are  friends,  you  know,  Charles,  and  you  can  have  no 
feelings  of  delicacy  in  borrowing  from  me.  See,"  said 
8* 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCBAPES.  179 

cept  it  upon  those  terms — but  I  have  the  gloves.  Thank 
you,  Ernest.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  ask  you  to  accept 
a  present  from  me ;  or  at  least  I  promise  not  to  refuse 
you  if  you  ask  what  I  have  this  moment  refused." 

And  laughing  heartily,  Hoffland  cried : 

"  Just  look  at  those  flowers !  and  there  is  the  great 
city  of  Williamsburg  !  We  pass  from  Indian  Camps  to 
learned  halls — from  barbarism  to  civilization.  Come ! 
let  us  get  into  Gloucester  street — that  promenade  of  ele- 
gance and  fashion !  Come  on,  Ernest !" 

And  they  entered  the  town. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

HOW   SIR   ASINTJS   FISHED   FOE   SWALLOWS,   AND   WHAT   HE 
CAUGHT. 

pLOUCESTER  STREET  was  alive  with  a  motley 
\JT  crowd  of  every  description,  from  the  elegant  dame 
who  drove  by  in  her  fine  four-horse  chariot  with  its  out- 
riders, to  the  most  obscure  denizen  of  the  surrounding  old 
field,  come  on  this  particular  day  to  Williamsburg,  in 
view  of  the  great  ball  to  be  held  at  the  Raleigh  tavern. 

Mowbray  and  Hoffland  gazed  philosophically  upon 
the  moving  crowd,  but  threaded  their  way  onward,  with- 
out much  comment.  Hoffland  was  anxious  to  reach  his 
lodging,  it  seemed  ;  the  culminating  sun  had  already 
made  his  face  rosy  with  its  warm  radiance,  and  he  held 
a  white  handkerchief  before  his  eyes  to  protect  them. 

"It  is  growing  very  warm/'  he  said;  "really,  Ernest, 
I  think  your  present  will  come  into  active  use  before  the 


"My 

"  No,  mine." 

"  Ah,  well,  Charles,"  continued  Ernest,  "  we  ought  to 
rejoice  in  the  warmth,  inasmuch  as  it  is  better  for  the 
poor  than  cold  —  the  winter.  Let  us  not  complain." 

"I  do  not;  but  I  see  precious  few  poor  about  now': 
they  all  seem  to  be  rejoicing,  without  needing  any  assist- 
ance therein  from  us.  Look  at  that  fine  chariot." 


A   CHEONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPEB.  181 

"At  Madam  Finette's  door?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  think  I  recognise  the  driver — Tom,  from  Mrs. 
"Wimple's,"  said  Mowbray  calmly. 

" Mrs.  Wimple— who  is  she?" 

"A  lady,  at  whose  house  I  suffered  one  of  my  cruellest 
disappointments,"  said  Mowbray  with  a  shadowed  brow ; 
"  let  us  not  speak  of  that !" 

"Of  what?" 

"  You  do  not  understand  ?" 

"  I  ?     Of  course  not." 

"  It  was  there  that  I  was  told,  by  the  woman  I  loved, 
how  despicable  1  was,"  said  Mowbray  with  a  cruel  tre- 
mor of  his  pale  lip. 

"  Oh — yes — pardon  me,"  Hoffland  said ;  and  turning 
aside  his  head,  he  murmured,  "  Men — men !  how  blind 
you  are  !  yes,  high-gravel  blind !"  and  looking  again  at 
Mowbray,  Hoffland  perceived  that  his  face  had  become 
calm  again. 

"  I  promised  Lucy  to  bring  home  some  little  articles 
from  this  place,"  he  said  calmly;  "go  in  with  me  a 
moment,  Charles." 

Hoffland  drew  back. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  I  believe— I  have— I  think  I  'd  rather 
not." 

"  I  will  detain  you  but  a  moment." 

Hoffland's  glance  plunged  itself  into  the  interior  of 
Madam  Finette's  emporium  ;  and  the  consequence  was 
that  the  young  gentleman  retreated  three  steps. 

"I  don't  think  I  have  time,"  he  said  laughing;  "but 
I'll  wait  for  you  here  :  the  sun  is  warm,  but  I  can  easily 
protect  my  face  by  holding  my  handkerchief  to  it." 


182  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

And  taking  up  his  position  in  the  vestibule,  so  to 
speak,  of  the  shop,  Hoffland  placed  himself  as  much  out 
of  view  as  possible,  and  waited.  Spite  of  the  fact  that 
the  sun's  rays  did  not  penetrate  to  the  spot  which  he  oc- 
cupied, the  white  handkerchief  was  still  used  as  a  shade. 

Mowbray  entered  and  approached  Madam  Finette. 

But  that  lady  was  busy ;  her  counter  was  covered  with 
magnificent  silks,  ribbons,  velvets  and  laces,  which  she 
was  unrolling,  folding  up,  drawing  out,  and  chattering 
about,  as  fast  as  her  small  hands  and  agile  tongue  would 
permit.  Before  her  stood  a  lady,  who,  accompanied  by 
her  cavalier,  was  engaged  in  the  momentous  task  of 
making  up  her  mind  what  colors  of  velvet  and  satin 
ribbon  she  should  select. 

The  lady  was  young  and  smiling — cheerful  and  grace- 
ful. When  she  laughed,  the  musical  chime  of  the  time- 
piece overhead  was  drowned,  and  died  away  ;  when  she 
smiled,  the  sunlight  seemed  to  have  darted  one  of  its 
brightest  beams  into  the  shop.  The  gentleman  was  ele- 
gant and  melancholy :  he  looked  like  Endymion  on  Lat- 
mos  trying  to  recall  his  dream,  or  like  Narcissus  fading 
into  shadow.  His  costume  resembled  a  variegated  Dutch 
tulip ;  his  hair  was  powdered  to  excess ;  he  sighed  and 
whispered  sadly,  and  looked  at  the  lady. 

The  lady  was  called  Belle-bouche,  Belinda,  or  Ee- 
becca. 

The  gentleman  was  familiarly  known  as  Jacques. 

"  I  think  that  would  suit  you,"  sighed  Jacques. 

"  This  ribbon  ?"  asked  Belle-bouche,  with  a  gay  smile. 

"  Yes  ;  it  is  yours  by  right.     It  is  the  prettiest  of  all." 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it — I  do." 

"  It  would  suit  the  mythologic  Maia." 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCEAPE8.  183 

"  Then  it  will  not  me." 

"Yes,  yes,"  sighed  Jacques,  in  a  whisper;  "you  are 
May  incarnate — with  its  tender  grace,  and  lovely  fresh- 
ness, and  Arcadian  beauty." 

Belle-bouche  smiled,  and  yet  did  not  laugh  at  the  oft 
repeated  Arcadian  simile. 

"  Methinks,"  said  Jacques,  with  a  species  of  melan- 
choly grace,  "  these  ribbons  would  suit  your  costume  at 
the  Arcadian  festival,  which  you  have  honored  me  with 
the  management  of " 

"  At  Shadynook  ?     Oh,  yes !  would  they  now  ?" 

"I  think  so,  madam.  Imagine  the  crooks  wreathed 
with  these  ribbons  and  with  flowers — the  shepherds 
would  go  mad  with  delight." 

"  Then  I  will  get  a  large  roll  of  this." 

"  No,  no — that  is  my  affair ;  but  you  must  wear  some- 
thing else." 

"I?     What,  pray?" 

"  Pink  :  it  is  the  color  of  youth,  and  joy,  and  love — 
worn  by  the  Graces  and  the  Naiads,  Oreads  and  Dryads ; 
— the  color  of  the  sea-shell,  and  the  autumn  leaves  and 
flowers — something  like  it  at  least,"  Jacques  added,  find- 
ing himself  mounting  into  the  realms  of  imagination. 

Belle-bouche  blushed  slightly,  and  turned  away.  Her 
eyes  fell  upon  Mowbray,  who  bowed. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  cheer- 
ful young  girl,  holding  out  her  hand ;  "  you  must  come 
to  our  party  at  Shadynook." 

"  Madam,  I  am  afraid — "  commenced  Mowbray,  with 
a  bow. 

But  Belle-bouche  interrupted  him : 

"  No !   I  really  will  take  no  refusal !     It  will  be  on 


184:  THE  YOUTH  OF  JEFFERSON  J   OB, 

Thursday,  and  Aunt  Wimple  wishes  you  to  come.  I  am 
manageress,  and  I  have  masculine  assistance  to  compel 
all  invited  to  be  with  us." 

With  which  words  she  glanced  at  Jacques,  who  sa- 
luted Mowbray  with  a  sad  smite. 

"And  you  must  bring  your  sister  Lucy,  Mr.  Mow- 
bray.  I  am  sorry  we  know  each  other  so  slightly ;  but 
I  am  sure  we  shall  be  intimate  if  she  comes.  Do  not 
refuse  to  bring  her  now." 

Belle-bouche  enforced  her  requests  with  such  a  wealth 
of  smiles,  that  Mowbray  was  compelled  to  yield. 

He  promised  to  come,  and  then  suddenly  remembered 
that  Philippa  would  be  there,  and  almost  groaned. 

Belle-bouche  finished  her  purchases,  and  went  out. 

As  she  passed  Hoffland  she  dropped  her  handkerchief. 
That  young  gentleman,  however,  declined  to  pick  it  up 
and  restore  it,  though  the  absent  Jacques  did  not  per- 
ceive it.  Jacques  assisted  the  young  girl  into  her  car- 
riage, pressed  her  hand  with  melancholy  affection,  and 
went  away  sighing. 

Mowbray,  having  procured  what  Lucy  wished,  came 
forth  again  and  was  joined  by  Hoffland.  That  gentle- 
man held  a  magnificent  lace  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  what  that  languishing  little  beauty 
dropped  in  passing  to  her  carriage.  What  a  love  of  a 
handkerchief!" 

"  What  an  odd  vocabulary  you  have  collected,"  said 
Mowbray,  smiling.  "Well,  you  should  have  restored  it 
to  her,  Charles." 

"  Kestored  it  1" 

"Yes." 

"Ernest,  you  astonish  me!"  cried  Hoffland, laughing; 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   8CKAPE8.  185 

"  address  a  young  lady  whom  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  ?" 

"It  would  be  to  do  her  a  simple  service,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  proper." 

"  You  are  a  pretty  gqj^e  for  youth,  are  you  not?  No, 
sir !  I  never  intrude  !" 

"Suppose  this  young  lady  were  asleep  in  a  house 
which  was  burning — would  you  not  intrude  to  inform 
her  of  that  fact?" 

"  Never,  sir !  Enter  a  lady's  bower  ?  Is  it  possible 
you  counsel  such  a  proceeding  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled  sadly.  "  You  have  excellent  spirits, 
Charles,"  he  |aid  ;  "  I  almost  envy  you." 

"  JSTo,  indeed,  I  have  not,"  said  Hoffland,  with  one  of 
his  strange  transitions  from  gaiety  to  thoughtfulness ;  "  I 
wear  more  than  one  mask,  Ernest." 

"  Are  you  ever  sad  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Hoffland,  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  Well,  well,  I  fancy  'tis  rtot  frequently.  If  you  feel 
so  to-day,  the  ball  to-night  will  restore  your  spirits ;  and 
there  you  may  restore  your  handkerchief  with  perfect 
propriety." 

"  How  ?" 

"  Get  an  introduction." 

Hoffland's  lip  crimped ;  but  nodding  his  head — 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I  think  I  shall  be  introduced,  for  I 
wish  very  much  to  be  present  at  that  Arcadian  festival." 

"You  heard,  then?" 

Hoffland  colored. 

"  N — o,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  believe  a  number  of  invita- 
tions are  out — for  Denis,  and  others; — a  good  fellow, 
Denis." 


186 


THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON;    OR, 


"  Excellent ;  and  I  suppose,  therefore,  you  will  be  at 
the  Raleigh  this  evening?" 

"  Yes,  about  twelve — I  have  my  studies  to  attend  to," 
said  HofSand,  laughing;  "you  have  no  idea  how  much 
the  character  of  Rosalind  ha9%iterested  me  lately.  I 
think  it  never  seized  so  strongly  upon  my  attention.  If 
ever  we  have  any  private  acting,  I  shall  certainly  appear 
in  that  character!" 

Mowbray  smiled  again. 

"  Your  person  would  suit  the  forest  page  very  well," 
he  said;  "for  you  are  slender,  and  slight  in  figure. 
But  how  would  you  compass  the  scenes  where  Rosalind 
appears  in  her  proper  character — in  fern  ale.  dress?" 

"Oh!"  laughed  Hoffland,  with  some  quickness,  "I 
think  I  could  easily  act  that  part." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"You  don't  know  my  powers,  Ernest." 

"  Well,  perhaps  not ;  but  let  us  dismiss  flie  ball,  and 
Rosalind,  and  all.  How  motley  a  crowd  !  I  almost  agree 
with  Jacques,  that  'motley's  the  only  wear.' " 

"  Jacques  !  that  reminds  me  of  the  melancholy  fellow 
we  saw  just  now,  sighing  and  languishing  with  that  little 
Belle-bouche " 

""Why,  you  know  her  familiar  name — how,  Charles?'' 

Hoffland  laughed. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  did  I  not  leave  my  MS.  love  songs 
to  Jacques ;  and  can  you  imagine  that  I  was  ignorant 
of — but  we  are  throwing  away  words.  Everybody's  in 
love,  I  believe — Jacques  is  not  singular.  Look  at  this 
little  pair  of  lovers — school-girl  and  school-boy,  devoted 
to  each  other,  and  consuming  with  the  tender  passion. 
Poor  unfortunate  creatures  1" 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  187 

With  which  words  Hoffland  laughed,  and  pointed  to  a 
boy  and  girl  who  were  passing  along  some  steps  in  ad- 
vance of  them. 

The  girl  was  that  young  lady  who  received,  as  the 
reader  may  possibly  recollect,  so  much  excellent  and 
paternal  advice  from  Jacques.  She  was  not  burdened 
with  her  satchel  on  this  occasion,  but  carried,  in  the 
same  careless  and  playful  fashion,  a  small  reticule ; 
while  her  cavalier  took  charge  of  her  purchases,  stored 
in  two  or  three  bundles,  and  kindly  relinquished  to  the 
gentleman  by  the  lady,  as  is  still  the  custom  in  our  own 
day. 

The  boy  was  a  fine  manly  young  fellow  of  sixteen, 
with  a  bright  kind  face,  rosy  and  freckled.  There 
seemed  to  be  quite  an  excellent  understandii^  between 
himself  and  his  companion,  and  they  went  on  convers- 
ing gaily. 

But  in  this  world  we  know  not  when  the  fates  will 
interrupt  our  pleasures  ; — a  profound  remark  which  was 
verified  on  this  occasion. 

Just  as  the  girl  was  passing  the  residence  of  Sir  Asi- 
nus,  her  feet  dancing  for  joy,  her  curls  illuminated,  her 
reticule  describing  the  largest  possible  arc  of  a  circle — 
just  then,  little  Martha,  or  Puss,  as  she  was  called,  found 
herself  suddenly  arrested,  and  the  over-skirt  of  her  silk 
dress  raised  with  a  sudden  jerk.  The  reticule  ceased  to 
pendulate,  the  conversation  stopped  abruptly,  the  boy 
and  girl  stood  profoundly  astonished. 

"  Oh,   me  I"   cried   the    child,   clasping   her   hands ; 
"what's  that?" 
•    "  Witchcraft !"  suggested  her  companion,  laughing. 

*'  No,  my  dear  young  friends,"  here  interposed  a  voice 


188  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OK, 

from  the  clouds — figuratively  speaking — really  from  an 
upper  window;  "  it  is  not  witchcraft,  but  a  simple  result 
of  natural  laws." 

The  child  raised  her  head  quickly  at  these  words,  and 
saw  leaning  out  of  a  dormer  window  of  Mrs.  Bobbery 's 
mansion,  that  identical  red-haired  gentleman  whom  she 
had  seen  upon  a  former  occasion ;  in  a  word,  Sir  Asinus : 
Sir  Asinus  dressed  magnificently  in  his  old  faded  dress- 
ing-gown ;  his  sandy  hair  standing  erect  upon  his  head ; 
his  features  sharper  than  ever;  and  his  eyes  more  elo- 
quent with  philosophical  and  cynical  humor.  As  he 
leaned  far  out  of  the  window,  he  resembled  a  large  owl 
in  a  dressing-gown,  with  arms  instead  of  legs,  fingers 
instead  of  claws. 

"  I  repqp,t,  sir  and  miss,"  he  said  blandly — "  or  prob- 
ably it  would  be  more  proper  to  say,  miss  and  sir — I 
repeat  that  this  is  not  witchcraft,  and  your  dress  is  simply 
caught  by  a  hook,  which  hook  contained  a  grain  of 
wheat,  which  wheat  has  been  devoured.  Wait !  I  will 
descend." 

And  disappearing  from  the  window,  Sir  Asinus  soon 
made  his  appearance  at  the  door,  and  approached  the 
boy  and  girl.  The  girl  was  laughing. 

"  Oh,  sir !  I  think  I  understand  now — you  were  fish- 
ing for  swallows,  and  the  hook " 

"  Caught  in  your  dress !  Precisely,  my  beautiful  little 
lady,  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  for  the  fiftieth 
time,  since  I  see  you  passing  every  morning,  noon  and 
evening — precisely.  Immured  in  my  apartment  for 
political  reasons,  I  am  reduced  to  this  species  of  amuse- 
ment ;  and  this  hook  attached  to  this  thread  contained  a 
grain  of  wheat.  It  floated  far  up,  and  some  cormorant 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  189 

devoured  it ;  then  the  wind  ceasing,  it  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  strike  into  your  dress." 

With  which  words  Sir  Asinus  made  an  elegant  bow, 
wrapping  his  old  dressing-gown  about  him  with  one 
hand,  while  he  extricated  the  hook  with  the  other. 

"  There !  you  are  free !"  he  said ;  "  I  am  very  sorry, 
my  dear  little  lady " 

"  Oh,  indeed,  sir !  it  is  very  funny !  I'm  almost  glad 
it  caught  me,  Bathurst  laughed  so  much." 

"I  have  the  pleasure  of  making  Mr.  Bathurst's  ac- 
quaintance," said  Sir  Asinus  politely ;  and  in  spite  of  little 
Martha's  correction,  that  Mr.  Bathurst  was  not  his  name, 
he  added,  "  Your  cavalier  at  the  ball  to-night,  I  presume  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  are  laughing,"  said  the  girl,  with  her 
bright  face  ;  "  but  we  are  going  to  the  ball.". 

"  And  will  you  dance  with  me  ?" 

"  If  you  will,  sir." 

"Extraordinary  innocence!"  muttered  the  knight, 
"  not  common  among  young  ladies ;"  then  he  added,  "  I 
assure  you,  Miss — you  have  not  told  me " 

"  My  name  is  Martha,  sir." 

"  "Well,  Miss  Martha,  I  shall  dance  with  you  most  de- 
lightedly. Asinus  is  my  name — I  am  descended  from  a 
great  Assyrian  family ;  and  this  is  my  lodging.  Look- 
ing up  any  morning,  my  dear  Miss  Martha,  you  will 
receive  the  most  elegant  bow  I  have— such  as  is  due  to 
a  Fairy  Queen,  and  the  empress  of  my  soul. — Good 
morning,  Mowbray." 

And  saluting  the  students  who  passed,  laughing,  Sir 
Asinus  ascended  again,  muttering  and  wrapping  his  old 
dressing-gown  more  tightly  around  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there's  no  doubt  about  the  fact  in  my 


190  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON. 

own  mind ; — I  am  just  as  much  in  love  with  that  pretty 
young  girl  who  has  left  me  laughing  and  joyous,  as  that 
ridiculous  Jacques  is  with  his  beauty  at  Shadynook.  I 
thought  at  one  time  I  was  in  love  with  Belle-bouche 
myself,  but  I  was  mistaken.  I  certainly  was  convinced 
of  it,  however,  or  why  did  I  name  my  sail-boat  the 
'Eebecca' — that  being  the  actual  name  of  Miss  Belle- 
bouche  ?  Yet  I  was  not  in  love  with  that  young  lady — and 
am  in  love  with  this  little  creature  of  fifteen  and  a  half, . 
who  has  passed  me  every  morning  and  evening,  going 
to  school.  Going  to  school !  there  it  is !  I,  the  great 
political  thinker,  the  originator  of  ideas,  the  student,  the 
philosopher,  the  cynic — I  am  in  love  with  a  school-girl ! 
Well,  I  am  not  aware  that  the  fact  of  acquiring  a  know- 
ledge of  geography  and  numbers,  music,  and  other  things, 
has  the  effect  of  making  young  ladies  disagreeable. 
Therefore  I  uphold  the  doctrine  that  love  for  young 
ladies  who  attend  school  is  not  wholly  ridiculous — else 
how  could  those  who  go  on  studying  until  they  are  as 
old  as  the  surrounding  hills,  be  ever  loved  with  reason  ? 
I  am  therefore  determined  to  fall  deeper  still  in  love, 
and  write  more  verses,  and  abolish  that  old  dull  scoun- 
drel Coke,  and  become  a  sighing,  languishing,  poetic  Love- 
lace. I'll  go  and  dance,  and  feel  my  pulse  every  hour, 
and  look  at  the  weather-glass  of  my  affections,  and  at 
night,  or  rather  in  the  morning,  report  to  myself  the 
result.  What  a  lucky  lover  I  am !  I  will  write  a  son- 
net to  that  thread,  and  an  ode  to  the  hook ; — I  will  ex- 
pand the  affair  into  an  epic  !" 

With  which  gigantic  idea  Sir  Asinus  kicked  aside  a 
volume  of  Coke  which  obstructed  his  way,  seized  a  pen, 
and  frowning  dreadfully,  began  to  compose. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HOFFLAND  IS   WHISKED   AWAY   IN   A   CHARIOT. 

. 

f»  TT7TIAT  an  oddity !"  said  Hoffland,  as  leaving  the  do- 

V  T  main  of  Sir  Asinus  behind  them,  the  two  students 
passed  on,  still  laughing  at  the  grotesque  appearance  of 
the  knight ;  "  this  gentleman  seems  to  live  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  jests  and  humor." 

"  I  think  it  is  somewhat  forced." 

"  Somewhat  forced  ?" 

."  At  times." 

"How?" 

"  I  mean  that  he  is  as  often  sad  as  merry ;  and  more 
frequently  earnest  and  serious  than  careless." 

"  Is  it  possible,  Ernest  ?"  fr 

"  I  think  I  am  right." 

"  Sir  Asinus — as  I  have  heard  him  called — a  serious 
man?" 

"  Yes,  and  a  very  profound  one." 

"  You  surprise  me !" 

"Well,  I  think  that  some  day  he  will  surprise  the 
world :  he  is  a  most  profound  thinker,  and  has  that  dan- 
gerous trait  for  opponents,  a  clearness  of  perception  which 
cuts  through  the  rind  of  a  subject,  and  eviscerates  the 
real  core  of  it  with  extraordinary  ease.  You  know " 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  talk  politics,"  said  Hoffland, 
laughing. 


192  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;    OE, 

"  No,"  said  Ernest. 

•  "  I  do  not  like  politics,"  Hoffland  continued  ;  "  they 
weary  me,  and  I  would  much  rather  talk  of  balls. — 
What  a  funny  figure  Sir  Asinus  will  cut  with  that  little 
creature^-in  reel  or  minuet !" 

And  Hoffland  complimented  his  own  conception  with 
a  laugh. 

"  I  scarcely  fancy  he  will  go  in  his  old  dressing-gown," 
saidMowbray  with  his  sad  smile;  "that  would  be  a  poor 
compliment  to  his  Excellency,  and  the  many  beautiful 
dames  who  will  meet  him." 

"Is  it  to  be  a  large  ball?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"  And  very  gay  ?" 

"No  doubt." 

"You  escort  Miss  Lucy?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  do  you  anticipate  much  pleasure?" 

"  Can  you  ask  me,  Charles  ?" 

"  "Why — L*  thought  you  might  throw  off — this  feeling 
yon  have " 

"  I  cannot,"  Mowbray  said,  shaking  his  head  ;  "  time 
only  can  accomplish  that — not  music,  and  gay  forms,  and 
laughter!  Ah,  Charles!"  he  added  with  a  deep  and 
weary  sigh,  "  you  plainly  know  nothing  of  my  feeling. 
I  cannot  prevent  myself  from  speaking  of  it — it  makes  me 
the  merest  boy ;  and  now  I  say  that  it  is  far  too  strong 
to  be  dispelled  in  any  degree  by  merriment.  Mirth  and 
joy  and  festive  scenes  obliterate  some  annoyances — those 
vague  disquietudes  which  oppress  some  persons;  they  are 
scarcely  a  balm  for  sorrow,  real  sorrow." 

Hoffland  held  down  his  head  and  sighed. 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  193 

"  I  shall  see  her  there  to-night,  I  cloubt  not,"  Mowbray 
went  on,  striving  to  preserve  his  calmness  ;  "  our  glances 
will  meet ;  her  satirical  smile  will  rise  'to  her  lips,  and 
she  will  turn  away  as  indifferently  as  if  she  had  not' 
cruelly  and  wantonly  wounded  a  heart  which  loves  her 
truly — deeply.  This  I  shall  suffer — this  I  anticipate: 
can  you  ask  me  then  if  I  look  forward  to  the  ball  with 
pleasure?" 

Hoffland  raised  his  head ;  his  face  was  full  of  smiles. 

"  But  suppose  she  does  not  look  thus  at  you  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  do  not  understand " 

"  Suppose  Philippa — was  not  that  her  name  ? — suppose 
she  smiles  when  you  bow  to  her :  for  you  will  bow,  won't 
you,  Ernest?" 

"  Assuredly ;  but  to  reply  to  your  question.  I  should 
know  perfectly  well  that  her  smile  was  the  untrue  ma- 
noeuvre of  a  coquette.  Ah  !  Charles  !  Charles  !  may  you 
never  know  what  it  is  to  see  a  false  smile  in  woman — cold 
and  chilling — the  glitter  of  sunlight  upon  snow.  It  is 
worse  than  frowns !" 

"  Ernest,  you  are  a  strange  person,"  said  Hoffland  ; 
"  you  seem  determined  to  misjudge  this  young  girl,  who 
is  not  as  bad  as  you  think  her,  my  life  upon  it !  So, 
frown  or  smile,  you  are  determined  to  hate  her  ?" 

"  I  do  not  hate  her !  Would  to  Heaven  I  could  get  as 
far  from  love  for  her,  as  the  neutral  ground  of  indiffer- 
ence." 

"  Unhappy  man !"  said  Hoffland  ;  "  you  pray  to  be 
delivered  from  love !" 

"  Devoutly." 

"  It  is  our  greatest  happiness." 

"  And  deepest  misery." 

9 


194  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  J   OK, 

"  Misanthrope !" 

"  No,  Charles,  I  neither  hate  men  nor  women ;  I  do 
not  permit  this  disappointment  to  sour  my  heart.  But 
I  cannot  become  an  advocate  of  the  feeling  which  has 
caused  me  such  cruel  suffering.  Let  us  say  no  more. 
"We  shall  meet  at  the  ball,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to 
judge  whether  I  am  mistaken  in  the  estimate  I  place 
upon  this  young  girl's  character.  She  is  beautiful, 
haughty,  suspicious,  and  unfeeling :  it  tears  my  heart  to 
say  it,  but  it  is  true.  You  will  never  after  this  evening 
doubt  my  unhappiness,  or  charge  me  with  error." 

"  Probably  not,"  said  Hoffland,  turning  away  his  head ; 
"  I  will  make  your  error  plain  to  you — but  promise  to 
speak  of  it  no  more." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'make  my  error  plain  to 
me '  ?" 

"  You  will  see." 

"  Charles !"  said  Mowbray  suddenly,  "  you  cannot 
have  designed  to  approach  this  lady  upon  the  subject 
which  I  have  spoken  to  you  of,  as  friend  to  friend? 
That  is  not  possible !" 

"  I  shall  not  say  one  single  word  to  your  lady-love." 

"  Explain  then." 

"  Never — I  am  a  Sphinx,  an  oracle :  until  the  time 
comes  I  am  dumb." 

"  You  only  strive  to  raise  my  spirits,"  said  Mowbray 
with  his  sad  smile  ;  "  that  is  very  kind  in  you,  but  I  fear 
it  is  even  more  than  you  could  do." 

"  By  which  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  could  '  raise 
your  spirits '  if  any  body  could." 

"I  may  say  yes — for  you  have  a  rare  cheerfulness. 
It  is  almost  contagious." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  195 

Hoffland  looked  sidewise  at  his  companion  for  a  mo- 
ment with  a  curious  smile,  and  said  : 

"  Ernest." 

"  Well,  Charles." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  have — but  it  is  too  foolish." 

"  Go  on :  finish  your  sentence." 

"No,  you  will  laugh." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall :  I  hope  so,"  Mowbray  said,  sadly 
smiling. 

There  was  so  much  sadness  in  his  tones,  spite  of  the 
smile,  that  Hoffland's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  What  I  was  about  to  say  was  very  ridiculous,"  the 
boy  said,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice ;  "  but  you 
know  almost  every  thing  I  say  is  ridiculous." 

"  No,  indeed,  Charles  ;  you  are  a  singular  mixture  of 
excellent  sense  and  fanciful  humor." 

"  Well,  then,  attribute  my  question  to  humor." 

"  Willingly." 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you — as  you  were  kind  enough 
to  say  that  I  could  make  you  laugh  if  any  one  could — I 
was  about  to  ask,  how.  would  you  like  to  have  a  wife 
like  me  ?" 

And  Hoffland  burst  out  laughing.     Ernest  sighed. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  it  very  well — to  reply  simply 
to  your  question." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes." 

"  What  do  you  admire  so  much  in  me?" 

"  I  love  more  than  I  admire,  Charles." 

"  Do  you  ?"     And  the  boy's  head  drooped. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  you  possess  a  childlike  ingen- 
uousness and  simplicity  which  is  exceedingly  refreshing 


THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFEKSON  ;    OK, 

to  me  after  intense  study.  I  would  call  your  conver- 
sation at  times  prattle,  but  for  the  fear  of  offending 
you." 

"  Oh,  you  will  not." 

"  Prattle  is  very  engaging,  you  know,"  said  Mowbray, 
"  and  I  often  feel  as  if  my  weary  head  would  be  at  rest 
upon  your  friendly  shoulder." 

"  Why  do  n't  you  rest  it  there  then  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled. 

"  You  may  answer  that  question  better  than  myself," 
he  said  :  "  for  some  strange  reason,  you  always  avoid  me 
when  I  approach  you." 

"  Avoid  you !" 

"  Yes,  Charles." 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Hoffland,  with  a  free-and- 
easy  air,  "  come  as  near  as  you  choose ;  here,  let  us  lock 
arms  !  Does  that  look  like  avoiding  you  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled. 

"It  is  very  different  here  in  the  street,"  he  said;  "but 
let  us  dismiss  this  idle  subject.  It  is  an  odd  way  of 
throwing  away  time  to  debate  whether  you  would  make 
a  good  wife." 

"I  don't  think  it  is,"  said  Hoffland,  and  he  laughed . 
"  if  I  would  make  a  good  wife,  I  would  make  a  good  hus- 
band ;  and  as  I  have  natural  doubts  upon  the  latter 
point,  I  wish  to  have  them  solved.  But  I  weary  you — • 
let  us  part.  Good-bye,"  added  Hoffland,  with  a  strange 
expression  of  face  and  tone  of  voice ;  "  here  is  my  lodg- 
ing, and  you  go  on  to  the  college." 

"No,  I  think  I  will  go  up  and  sit  down  a  moment." 

Hoffland  stood  still. 

"  It  is  strange,  but  true,  that  I  have  never  paid  you  a 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  197 

visit,"  continued  Mowbray,  "  and  now  I  will  go  and  see 
your  quarters." 

"  Really,  my  dear  Ernest — the  fact  is — I  assure  you  on 

my  honor — there  is  nothing  to  attract " 

Mowbray  smiled. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  said,  "  I  will  go  up,  if  from  nothing 
else,  from  simple  curiosity." 

The  singular  young  man  looked  exceedingly  vexed  at 
this,  and  did  not  move. 

Mowbray  was  about  to  pass  with  a  smile  up  the  steps 
leading  to  the  door,  when  an  acquaintance  came  by  and 
stopped  a  moment  to  speak  to  him.  Mowbray  seemed 
interested  in  what  he  said,  and  half  turned  from  Hoffland. 

No  sooner  had  he  done  so  than  the  boy  placed  one 
cautious  foot  upon  the  stone  step,  looked  quickly  around, 
saw  that  he  was  unobserved ;  and  entering  the  house 
with  a  bound,  ran  lightly  up  the  steps,  opened  the  door 
of  his  apartment,  entered  it,  closed  the  door,  and  disap- 
peared. The  sound  of  the  bolt  in  moving  proved  that 
he  had  locked  himself  in.  •. 

In  two  minutes  Mowbray  turned  round  to  speak  to 
his  companion:  he  was  no  where  to  be  seen.  The 
friend  with  whom  he  had  been  conversing  had  observed 
nothing,  and  suggested  that  Mr.  Hoffland  must  have 
gone  on. 

No  ;  he  had,  however,  gone  to  his  room  probably.  And 
ascending  the  stairs,  Mowbray  knocked  at  the  door.  No 
voice  replied. 

"  Strange  boy !"  he  murmured  ;  "  he  cannot  be  here, 
however — and  yet  that  singular  objection  he  seemed  to 
have  to  my  visiting  him — singular !" 

And  Mowbray,  finding  himself  no  nearer  a  conclusion 


198  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON. 

than  at  first,  descended,  and  slowly  passed  on  toward 
the  college. 

No  sooner  had  he  disappeared  within  its  walls  than  a 
slight  noise  at  Hoffland's  window  proved  that  he  had 
been  watching  Mowbray.  All  then  became  silent.  In 
an  hour,  however,  the  door  was  cautiously  opened,  and 
the  boy  issued  forth.  He  carefully  closed  the  door,  re- 
locked  it,  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  descended,  and 
commenced  walking  rapidly  toward  the  southern  portion 
of  the  town,  depositing  as  he  went  by  a  letter  in  the  post. 

He  passed  through  the  suburbs,  continued  his  way 
over  the  open  road  leading  toward  Jamestown,  and  in 
half  an  hour  arrived  at  a  little  roadside  ordinary — one 
of  those  houses  of  private  entertainment  which  are 
wholly  different  from  the  great  public  taverns. 

Fifty  paces  beyond  this  ordinary  a  chariot  with  four 
horses  was  waiting  in  a  glade  of  the  forest,  and  on  catch- 
ing sight  of  it  Hoffland  hastened  his  steps,  and  almost 
ran. 

He  reached  the  chariot  breathless  from  his  long  walk 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  he  had  passed  over  the  dis- 
tance between  the  ordinary  and  the  vehicle ;  threw 
open  the  door  before  the  coachman  knew  he  was  near ; 
entered,  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Home !"  and  sank  back 
exhausted. 

As  though  only  waiting  for  this  single  word,  the 
chariot  began  to  move,  and  the  horses,  drawing  the 
heavy  vehicle,  disappeared  at  a  gallop. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

• 

SIR   ASDfUS    GOES   TO   THE   BAIX. 

UPON  tlie  most  moderate  calculation,  Sir  Asinus  must 
have  tied  his  lace  cravat  a  dozen  times  before  he 
finally  coaxed  his  smoothly  shaven  chin  to  rest  in  quiet 
grace  upon  its  white  folds.  Having  accomplished  this 
important  matter,  and  donned  his  coat  of  Mecklenburg 
silk,  the  knight  took  a  last  survey  of  himself  in  the  mir- 
ror, carefully  reconnoitred  the  street  below  for  lurking 
proctors,  and  then  brushing  the  nap  of  his  cocked  hat 
and  humming  his  favorite  Latin  song,  stepped  daintily 
into  the  street  and  bent  his  way  toward  the  Kaleigh. 

Sir  Asinus  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  finer  ball ; 
for,  to  say  nothing  of  the  chariots  and  coachmen  and 
pawing  horses  and  liveries  at  the  door — of  the  splendid 
gentlemen  dismounting  from  their  cobs  and  entering  gay 
and  free  the  spacious  ball-room — there  was  the  great 
and  overwhelming  array  of  fatal  beauty  raining  splendor 
on  the  noisy  air,  and  turning  every  thing  into  delight. 

The  great  room — the  Apollo  famed  in  history  for  ever — 
blazed  from  end  to  end  with  lights  ;  the  noble  minstrels 
of  the  festival  sat  high  above  and  stunned  the  ears  with 
fiddles,  hautboys,  flutes  and  fifes  and  bugles ;  the  crowd 
swayed  back  and  forth,  and  buzzed  and  hummed  and 
rustled  with  a  well-bred  laughter; — and  from  all  this 
fairy  spectacle  of  brilliant  lights  and  fair  and  graceful 


200  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OK, 

forms  arose  a  perfume  which  made  the  ascetic  Sir  Asimia 
once  more  happy,  causing  his  lips  to  smile,  his  eyes  to 
dance,  his  very  pointed  nose  to  grow  more  sharp  as  it 
inhaled  the  fragrance  showering  down  in  shivering  clouds. 

Make  way  for  his  Excellency ! — here  he  comes,  the  gal- 
lant gay  Fauquier,  with  a  polite  word  for  every  lady, 
and  a  smile  for  the  old  planters  who  have  won  and  lost 
with  him  their  thousands  of  pounds.  And  the  smiling 
Excellency  has  a  word  for  the  students  too,  and  among 
the  rest  for  Sir  Asinus,  his  prime  favorite. 

"  Ah,  Tom  !"  he  says,  "give  you  good  evening." 

"  Good  evening,  your  Excellency,"  said  Sir  Asinus, 
bowing. 

"  From  your  exile  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Ah,  well,  carpe  diem  !  be  happy  while  you  may — 
that  has  been  my  principle  in  life.  A  fine  assembly ; 
and  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  hear  the  shuffle  of  cards  yon- 
der in  the  side  room." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Ah,  you  Virginians !  I  find  your  thirst  for  play  even 
greater  than  my  own." 

"  I  think  your  Excellency  introduced  the  said  thirst." 

"  What !  introduced  it  ?  I  ?  Not  at  all.  You  Virgin- 
ians are  true  descendants  of  the  cavaliers — those  long- 
haired gentlemen  who  drank,  and  diced,  and  swore,  and 
got  into  the  saddle,  and  fought  without  knowing  very 
accurately  what  they  were  fighting  about.  See,  I  have 
drawn  you  to  the  life  !" 

Sir  Asinus  smiled. 

"  We  shall  some  day  have  to  fight,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and 
we  shall  then  falsify  our  ancestral  character." 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  201 

"How?" 

"  We  shall  know  what  we  fight  about !" 

"Bah!  my  dear  Tom!  there  you  are  beginning  to 
talk  politics,  and  soon  you  will  be  rattling  the  stamp  act 
and  navigation  laws  in  my  ears,  like  two  pebbles  shaken 
together  in  the  hand.  Enough !  Be  happy  while  you 
may,  I  say  again,  and  forget  your  theories.  Ah  !  there 
is  my  friend,  Mrs.  Wimple,  and  her  charming  niece. 
Good  evening,  madam." 

And  his  Excellency  made  a  courtly  bow  to  Aunt 
Wimple,  who  was  resplendent  in  a  head-dress  which 
towered  aloft  like  a  helmet. 

And  passing  on,  the  Governor  smiled  upon  Miss 
Belle-bouche,  and  saluted  Jacques. 

On  former  occasions  we  have  attempted  to  describe 
the  costume  of  this  latter  gentleman;  on  the  present 
occasion  we  shall  not.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  large 
tulip  bed  at  Shadynook  seemed  to  have  left  that  domain 
and  entered  the  ball-room  of  the  Raleigh,  with  the  lady 
who  attended  to  them. 

This  was  Belle-bouche,  as  we  have  said ;  and  the 
tender  languishing  face  of  the  little  beauty  was  full  of 
joy  at  the  bright  scene. 

As  for  poor  Jacques,  he  was  oceans  deep  in  love,  and 
scarcely  looked  at  any  other  lady  in  the  room.  This 
caused  much  amusement  among  his  friends  who  were 
looking  at  him ;  but  what  does  a  lover  care  for  laugh- 
ter? 

>f  "  Ah !"  he  says,  "a  truly  Arcadian  scene !  Methinks 
the  Muses  and  the  Graces  have  become  civilized,  and 
assembled  here  to  dance  the  minuet.  You  will  have 
a  delightful  evening." 


202  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFEKSON  ;    OK, 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  shall!"  says  Belle-bouche,  smiling. 

u  And  I  shall,  because  I  am  with  you." 

With  which  words,  Jacques  smiles  and  sighs ;  and  his 
watchful  friends  follow  his  eyes,  and  laugh  more  loudly 
than  ever. 

They  say  to  him  afterwards:  "Well,  old  fellow,  the 
way  you  were  sweet  upon  your  lady-love  on  that  oc- 
casion, was  a  sin !  You  almost  ate  her  up  with  your 
eyes,  and  at  one  time  you  looked  as  if  you  were  going 
to  dissolve  into  a  sigh,  or  melt  into  a  smile.  At  any 
rate,  you  are  gone — go  on !" 

Belle-bouche  receives  the  tender  compliments  of 
Jacques  with  a  flitting  blush,  and  says,  in  order  to  divert 
him  from  the  subject  of  herself: 

"There  is  Mr.  Mowbray,  entering  with  his  sister 
Lucy.  She  is  very  sweet " 

"  But  not " 

"And  must  be  at  our  May-day,"  adds  Belle-bouche, 
quickly.  "  Good  evening,  Mr.  Mowbray  and  Miss  Lucy ; 
I  wanted  to  see  you."  With  which  words  Belle-bouche 
gives  her  hand  to  Lucy.  "  You  must  come  to  our  May- 
day at  Shadynook ; — promise  now.  Mr.  Mowbray  deliv- 
ered my  message  ?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  will  certainly  come — if  Ernest  will  take 
me,"  says  Lucy,  smiling. 

The  pale  face  of  Mowbray  is  lit  up  for  a  moment  by 
a  sad  smile,  and  he  replies : 

"  I  will  come,  madam — if  I  have  courage,"  he  mur- 
murs, turning  away. 

"You  must;  we  shall  have  a  merry  day,  I  think. 
What  a  fine  assembly !" 

"  Very  gay." 


A  CHRONICLE  OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  203 

"  Oh,  there's  Jenny ." 

"A  friend?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

And  while  this  conversation  proceeds,  Jacqi 
ing  with  Lucy.     He  interrupts  himself  in   ti 
of  a  sentence,  to  bow  paternally  to  a  young 
has  just  entered. 

"  Good  evening,  my  dear  Miss  Merryheart,"  he  says. 

"Oh,  sir!  that  is  not  my  name,"  says  little  Martha, 
laughing. 

"  What  is  ?" 

"  Martha." 

"  And  are  you  not  desirous  of  changing  it  ?" 

The  girl  laughs. 

"  Say,  for  Mrs.  Jacques  ?" 

"  Oh!"  cries  Martha,  with  a  merry  glance  and  a  pleas- 
ant affectation  of  reserve,  "  that  is  too  "public." 

"  The  fact  is,"  replies  Jacques,  smiling,  "  you  are 
looking  so  lovely,  that  I  could  not  help  it." 

"Oh,  sir!"  says  the  girl  blushing,  but  delighted. 
Which  expression  makes  her  companion — a  youthful 
gentleman  called  Bathurst — frown  with  jealousy. 

Lucy  is  admiring  the  child,  when  she  finds  herself 
saluted  by  Sir  Asinus,  who  has  made  her  acquaintance 
some  time  since. 

"A  delightful  evening,  Miss  Mowbray,"  says  that 
worthy  ;  "  and  I  find  you  admiring  a  very  dear  friend  of 
mine." 

"  Who  is  that,  sir  ?"  says  Lucy,  smiling. 

"  Little  Miss  Martha." 

"  She  is  your  friend  ?" 

"  Are  you  not  ?"  says  Sir  Asinus,  bowing  with  great 


204:  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  J    OB, 

devotion  to  Martha ;  "  you  caught  me  this  morning,  you 
know." 

"  Oh  no,  sir !  you  caught  me !" 

deed !"  jjried  Sir  Asinus ;  "I  thought  'twas  the 
art !" 

he  relishes  his  joke  so  much  and  laughs  so  loud, 
that  the  girl  discovers  her  mistake  and  blushes,  which 
increases  her  fresh  beauty  a  thousand-fold. 

Sir  Asinus  heaves  a  sigh,  and  contemplates  a  declara- 
tion immediately.  He  asks  her  hand  for  a  quadrille 
instead. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir!" 

Whereupon  Bathurst  revolves  gloomy  thoughts  of 
revenge  in  the  depths  of  his  soul. 

Sir  Asinus,  seeing  his  rival's  moodiness,  smiles ;  but 
this  smile  disappears  like  a  sunbeam.  He  sees  Doctor 
Small  approaching,  and  turns  to  flee. 

In  doing  so,  he  runs  up  against  and  treads  on  the  toes 
of  Mr.  Jack  Denis,  who  laughs,  and  bowing  to  Lucy, 
.presses  toward  her  and  takes  his  place  at  her  side. 

Sir  Asinus  makes  his  way  through  the  crowd,  paying 
his  respects  to  every  body. 

He  arrives,  at  length,  at  the  door  of  the  side  room 
where  the  devotees  of  cards  are  busy  at  tictac.  He  is 
soon  seated  at  one  of  the  tables  by  the  side  of  Governor 
Fauquier,  and  is  playing  away  with  the  utmost  delight. 

In  this  way  the  ball  commenced ;  and  so  it  went  on 
with  loud  music,  and  a  hum  of  voices  rising  almost  to  a 
shout  at  times,  until  the  supper  hour.  And  then,  the  pro- 
fuse supper  having  been  discussed  with  that  honorable 
devotion  which  ever  characterizes  Virginians,  the  danc- 
ing recommenced,  more  madly  than  ever. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  205 

But  let  not  the  reader  imagine  that  the  dances  of  the 
old  time  were  like  our  own.  Not  at  all.  They  had  no 
waltzes,  polkas,  or  the  like,  but  dignified  quadrilles,  and 
stately  minuets  ;  and  it  was  only  when  the  company  h 
become  perfectly  acquainted  with  each  other,  at  the  en 
of  the  assembly,  that  the  reel  was  inaugurated,  with  its 
wild  excessive  mirth — its  rapid,  darting,  circling,  and 
exuberant  delight. 

Poor  Sir  Asinus  !  he  had  not  been  well  treated  by  his 
lady-love — we  mean  the  little  Martha.  That  young  lady 
liked  the  noble  knight,  but  Brutus-like,  loved  Bathurst 
more.  The  worthy  Sir  Asinus  found  his  graces  of  mind 
and  person  no  match  for  the  laughing  freckled  face  of 
her  youthful  admirer,  and  with  all  the  passing  hours  he 
grew  more  sad. 

He  ended  by  offering  his  heart  and  hand,  we  verily 
believe,  in  the  middle  of  a  quadrille  ;  but  on  this  point 
we  are  not  quite  certain.  Sure  are  we  that  on  this  night 
the  great  politician  found  himself  defeated  by  a  boy — 
this  we  may  assert  from  after  events. 

In  the  excess  of  his  mortification  be  betook  himself  to 
cards,  and  was  soon  sent  away  penniless.  He  rose  from 
the  card-table  feeling,  like  Catiline,  ripe  for  conspiracy 
and  treason.  He  re-entered  the  ball-room  and  strolled 
about  disconsolate — a  stalking  glu>st. 

Just  as  he  made  his  appearance  a  lady  entered  from 
the  opposite  door,  and  Sir  Asinus  felt  the  arm  of  a  gen- 
tleman, against  whom  he  was  pressed  by  the  crowd, 
tremble.  He  turned  and  looked  at  him.  It  was  Mow- 
bray  ;  and  he  was  looking  at  the  lady  who  had  just 
entered. 

This  lady  was  Philippa. 


CHAPTEK   XXVI. 

EBNEST   AND   PHILIPPA. 

THE  young  girl  had  never  looked  more  beautiful. 
She  was  clad  in  a  simple  white  satin,  her  dazzling 
arms  were  bare,  but  she  wore  not  a  single  bracelet ;  her 
hair  was  carried  back  from  her  temples,  and  powdered 
until  it  resembled  a  midnight  strewed  with  star-dust — 
but  not  a  single  jewel  glittered  above  her  imperial  brow, 
or  on  her  neck.  She  looked  like  an  uncrowned  queen, 
and  took  her  place  as  one  not  needing  ornaments. 

Poor  Mowbray,  as  we  have  seen,  trembled  slightly  as 
she  entered.  With  all  his  strength  he  could  not  restrain 
this  exhibition  of  emotion. 

When  he  had  visited  her  so  often  at  Shadynook  she 
had  invariably  worn  a  number  of  jewels,  and  seemed  to 
have  taken  an  idle  delight  in  decorating  her  person  with 
all  the  splendor  which  unlimited  wealth  places  at  the 
command  of  those  who  possess  it.  Now  she  came  like  a 
simple  village  maiden— like  a  May-day  queen  ;  queen 
not  in  virtue  of  her  jewels  or  her  wealth,  but  for  her 
beauty  and  simplicity  and  kindness. 

If  he  had  loved  her  before,  poor  Mowbray  now  more 
than  loved  her. 

All  his  resolutions  melted  before  her  approach,  as  the 
iceberg  thaws  and  dissolves  beneath  the  rays  of  a  tropic 
sky.  He  had  floated  into  the  old  latitudes  of  love  and 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  207 

warmth  again,  and  his  cold  heart  once  more  began  to 
beat— his  hardness  to  pass  away ;  leaving  the  old,  true, 
faithful  love. 

She  came  on  carelessly  through  the  crowd,  dispensing 
smiles  and  gay  laughter.  Surrounded  by  a  host  of  ad- 
mirers, she  talked  with  all  of  them  at  once — scattered 
here  a  jest,  there  a  smile  ;  asked  here  a  question,  replied 
gaily  there  to  one  addressed  to  her ;  and  as  she  moved, 
the  crowd  of  gallant  gentlemen  moved  with  her,  as  the 
stars  hover  around  and  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  bright 
harvest  moon. 

Philippa  was  "  easily  foist."  She  had  that  rare  joy- 
ousness  which  is  contagious,  making  all  who  come  within 
its  influence  merry  like  itself;  and  with  her  wildest 
laughter  and  her  most  careless  jests,  a  maiden  simpleness 
and  grace  was  mingled  which  made  the  "judicious" 
who  had  "grieved"  before  as  much  her  admirers  as 
the  ruffled  and  powdered  fine  gentlemen  who  bowed  and 
smiled  and  whispered  to  her  as  she  moved. 

Poor  Mowbray !  He  saw  what  he  had  lost,  and 
groaned. 

This  was  the  woman  whom  he  loved — would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  love  him  again.  This  was  the 
bold  true  nature  he  had  felt  such  admiration  for — and 
now  he  saw  how  maidenly  she  was,  and  only  saw  it  fully 
when  she  was  lost  to  him. 

Could  she  have  ever  uttered  those  cruel  words  which 
still  echoed  in  his  heart  ? — and  was  this  kind  and  happy 
face,  this  open,  frank,  and  lovely  girl,  the  woman  who 
had  struck  his  heart  so  rudely  ? 

Could  he  not  love  her  still,  and  go  to  her  and  say,  "  I 
wronged  you,  pardon  me,  I  love  you  more  than  ever"  ? 


208  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

No  ;  all  that  was  over,  and  he  might  love  her  madly, 
with  insane  energy,  and  break  his  heart  with  the  thought 
of  her  beauty  and  simplicity  and  truth ;  but  never  would 
he  again  approach  a  woman  who  despised  him — looked 
upon  him  as  an  adventurer  and  fortune-hunter. 

Still  Philippa  came  on  slowly,  bowing,  smiling,  and 
jesting — she  ever  approached  nearer. 

Mowbray  felt  a  shudder  run  through  his  body,  and 
turned  to  leave  the  spot. 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  voice  which  made  his  ears 
tingle,  his  heart  sink,  his  cheek  flush,  utter  in  the  most 
quiet  manner,  and  without  any  exhibition  of  coldness  or 
satire  or  affectation,  the  words  : 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Mowbray.  Will  you  not  speak 
to  me  ?" 

Mowbray  became  calm  suddenly,  by  one  of  those 
efforts  of  resolution  which  characterized  him. 

"  Good  evening,  madam,"  he  said,  approaching  the 
young  girl  unconsciously  ;  "I  trust  you  are  well." 

And  wondering  at  himself,  he  stood  beside  her. 

"  I  believe  I  am  very  well,"  she  said,  smiling  ;  "  will 
you  give  me  your  arm  ?" 

Mowbray  presented  his  arm,  bowing  .  calmly ;  and 
with  a  smile  which  embraced  the  whole  mortified 
group  of  gentlemen,  the  young  girl  turned  away  with 
him. 

"  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you — have  I  ? 
— lately,"  she  said ;  "  where  have  you  been,  if  I  may 
ask  a  very  impertinent  question  ?" 

"  At  Williamsburg,  madam." 

"  And  never  at  Shadynook  ?" 

"  I  was  informed  that  you  had  gone  home." 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  209 

"Yes,  so  I  did.  But  then  if -you  had  much — friend- 
ship for  me,  I  think  you  might  have  followed  me." 

Mowbray  was  so  much  moved  by  the  fascinating 
glance  which  accompanied  these  words,  that  he  could 
only  murmur : 

"  Follow  you,  madam  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  when  gentlemen  have  friends — par- 
ticular friends  among  the  ladies,  and  those  friends  leave 
them,  they  go  to  seek  them." 

"  I  am  unfortunately  a  poor  law  student,  madam — I 
have  little  time  for  visits." 

Philippa  smiled. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  an  evasion,  sir,"  she  said. 

"  How,  madam  ?" 

"  The  true  reason  I  fear  is,  that  the  rule  I  have  spoken 
of  does  not  apply  to  yqu  and  myself." 

"The  rule •?" 

"  That  we  follow  our  particular  friends — or  rather  that 
the  gentlemen  do.  I  fear  you  do  not  regard  me  in  that 
light," 

Mowbray  could  only  say : 

"  Why  should  I  not,  madam  ?" 

Philippa  paused  for  a  moment ;  and  then  said,  smiling : 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  fancy  then  that  something  which  I  said  in  our  last 
interview  offended  you." 

This  was  a  home  thrust,  and  Mowbray  could  not 
reply. 

"Answer,"  she  said;  "did  you  not  come  away  from 
that  interview  thinking  me  very  rude,  very  unladylike, 
very  affected  and  unlovely  ?  did  you  not  cordially  deter 


210 


THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  I    OK, 


mine  never  to  think  of  me  again — and  have  you  not 
kept  that  resolution  ?" 

"  No,  madam,"  said  Mowbray,  replying  by  evasion  to 
the  last  clause  of  the  sentence. 

Philippa  pouted. 

"Mr.  Mowbray,"  she  said,  "you  are  very  cold.  I  be- 
lieve I  have  left  at  least  a  dozen  gallant  wits  to  give  you 
my  whole  attention,  and  you  reply  to  me  in  mono- 
syllables." 

Mowbray  felt  his  heart  wounded  by  these  words, 
which  were  uttered  with  as  much  feeling  as  annoyance, 
and  replied : 

"  I  should  not  have  accepted  your  proposal,  madam  ; 
it  was  selfish.  I  am  not  in  very  excellent  spirits  this 
evening,  and  fear  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  entertain 
you.  Pardon  my  dulness." 

"  No,  I  will  not.  You  can  be  just  as  agreeable  as  you 
choose,  and  you  will  not.'* 

Mowbray  found  himself  smiling  at  these  words,  and 
said  : 

"  Perhaps,  then,  if  you  will  ask  me  some  more  ques- 
tions, madam,  I  may  reply  in  something  more  than 
monosyllables." 

"  Well  then,  sir,  are  you  going  to  the  May-day  party 
at  Shadynook  ?" 

"I  do  not  know — yes,  I  suppose,  however.  I  have 
promised." 

"  Then  Miss  Lucy  will  wish  to  have  you." 

"Yes— well,  I  shall  go." 

"  I  am  very  glad !"  said  Philippa. 

Mowbray  could  not  explain  the  happiness  he  felt : 
all  his  coldness  and  doubt  seemed  to  be  passing  away  in 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  211 

presence  of  this  young  girl,  who  gave  him  such  winning 
smiles,  and  so  obstinately  refused  to  observe  his  con- 
straint. He  had  spoken  truly  to  Hoffland ;  he  was  in 
love,  and  he  had  no  longer  any  command  over  himself. 
He  banished  the  thought  that  she  was  playing  with  his 
feelings,  as  soon  as  it  occurred,  and  gave  himself  up  to 
the  intoxicating  happiness  which  he  experienced  in  her 
presence. 

"  You  will  also  come  to  the  party,  will  you  not  ?"  he 
said,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Philippa ;  "  they  could  not  very  well 
get  on  without  me.  In  the  first  place,  Bel  and  myself 
are  to  get  every  thing  ready ;  I  mean  at  Shadynook. 
As  to  the  invitations,  and  all  the  externals,  they  are  in- 
trusted to  that  handsome  gentleman  yonder,  who  is 
devouring  Bel  with  his  eyes !  Can't  you  see  him  ?" 
added  Philippa,  with  a  merry  laugh  ;  "  poor  fellow  he 
is  deeply  in  love " 

"  And  that  you  think  very  ridiculous  ?" 

"  Indeed,  no.  I  can  imagine  no  greater  compliment, 
and  no  larger  happiness,  than  to  be  sincerely  loved  by  a 
true  and  honest  gentleman." 

Mowbray  looked  at  her  sadly,  but  with  a  smile. 

"  There  are  very  many  honest  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  but  they  do  not  love  everybody,"  said  Philippa ; 
"  and  that  for  a  very  good  reason." 
-"What?" 

The  young  girl  laughed. 

"  Because  they  love  themselves  so  much,"  she  said. 
"Gallant  Adonises!  they  think  themselves  handsome, 
nay,  more  lovely  than  all  the  maidens  in  the  world !" 

Mowbray  caught  the  infectious  mirth  of  the  young 


212  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OR, 

girl,  and  smiled.  Poor  Mowbray !  where  were  all  his 
mighty  resolutions — his  fair  promises — his  determina- 
tion to  remain  an  iceberg  in  presence  of  this  haughty 
young  girl  ?  He  was  falling  more  deeply  in  love  with 
her  every  moment. 

"  You  are  very  severe  upon  the  fine  gentlemen,"  he 
said ;  "  I  think  your  picture  is  the  exception." 

'"No,  no  !  the  rule  !  the  rule !"  she  went  on  laughing. 
"  Just  look  at  them  yonder.  See  how  they  smile  and 
simper,  and  press  their  hands  to  their  hearts,  and  daintily 
arrange  their  drop  curls  !  I  would  as  soon  be  loved  by 
a  lay-figure !" 

And  Philippa  burst  into  a  fit  of  merry  laughter. 

"  Look !"  she  said  ;  "  see  that  ridiculous  young  gentle- 
man near  the  door,  with  the  velvet  breast-knot — think  of 
a  velvet  breast-knot !  See  how  he  daintily  helps  himself 
to  snuff  from-  a  box  with  a  picture  of  Madame  Pompa- 
dour, or  some  celebrated  lady,  upon  the  lid ;  and  see  his 
jewelled  hand,  his  simpering  face,  his  languid  air,  his  af- 
fected drawl  as  he  murmurs,  '  Ah — yes-— madam — very 
— warm — but  a  charming — spectacle.'  On  my  word  ! 
I  would  always  provide  myself  with  a  bottle  of  sal 
volatile  when  such  gentlemen  came  to  see  me  !" 

Mowbray  found  himself  growing  positively  happy. 
Not  only  were  his  spirits  raised  by  the  young  girl's 
merry  and  good-humored  conversation,  but  every  word 
which  she  uttered  made  his  heart  thrill  more  and  more. 
All  her  discourse,  all  her  satire  upon  the  butterflies  of 
the  ball-room,  had  originated  in  the  discussion  of  what 
character  was  proper  for  a  lover.  She  scouted  the  idea 
of  the  love  of  one  of  these  idlers  attracting  for  a  mo- 
ment the  regard  of  an  intelligent  woman :  then  was  it 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  213 

not  a  just  conclusion,  that  she  looked  for  character,  and 
dignity,  and  activity  ?  She  pointed  to  his  own  opposite, 
in  grotesque  colors,  and  laughed  at  her  picture :  then 
did  she  not  find  something  to  like  in  himself?  Could 
she  ever  love  him  ? 

And  Mowbray's  cheek  flushed — his  strong  frame  was 
agitated. 

"The  amusing  part  of  all  this  is,"  said  Philippa, 
laughing,  "  that  these  gentlemen  think  their  charms  irre- 
sistible. Now,  there  is  my  cousin  Charles — you  know 
him,  I  believe." 

«  Charles ?" 

"  Charles  Hoffland." 

"  Charles,  your  cousin !"  cried  Mowbray ;  "  it  is  im- 
possible !" 

"  Why,  what  is  impossible  in  the  fact  ?  Possible  ? 
Of  course  it  is  possible  !" 

And  Philippa  laughed  again  more  merrily  than  before. 

"  Your  cousin  !"  repeated  Mowbray ;  "  why,  Charles 
is  one  of  my  best  friends." 

"  That  is  very  proper,  sir  ;  then  you  have  two  friends 
in  the  family." 

And  Philippa  gave  her  cavalier  an  enchanting  smile. 

"  Charles  is  a  very  excellent  young  man,"  she  laughed ; 
"  and  I  am  sure  loves  me  deeply,  but  then  any  one  can 
see  he  loves  himself  extravagantly." 

"  Is  it  possible !  But  excuse  me,"  said  Mowbray,  seeing 
that  his  astonishment  annoyed  his  companion  ;  "  he  was 
to  be  here  to-night." 

"  Has  he  arrived  ?"  said  Philippa,  looking  round  with 
her  daring  smile. 

"  I  do  not  see  him." 


214  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  |    OK, 

"Tell  me  when  he  comes,"  she  said,  shaking  with 
laughter;  "he's  a  sad  fellow,  and  I  must  lecture  him." 

Mowbray  looked  at  her. 

"  Strange  that  I  did  not  see  that  you  were  related," 
he  said. 

"  Yery  strange." 

"  He  resembles  you  strongly." 

"  Yes." 

"  But  has  light  hair." 

«  Has  he  ?" 

"  And  is  smaller,  I  verily  believe." 

"  No,  I  believe  our  height  is  just  the  same.  Has  he 
attended  to  his  studies  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  in  a  way  to  injure  his  health,  I  fear." 

"  Lazy  fellow  !  I  will  never  marry  him." 

"  He  is  then  a  suitor  of  yours,  madam  ?  I  was  not  aware 
of  the  fact — and  request  you  to  pardon  my  criticism." 

"  There  you  are  assuming  your  grand  air  again,"  said 
Philippa,  laughing  ;  "  please  leave  it  at  home  when  you 
come  to  see  me.  Ah!  you  smile  again — that  pleases 
me.  "What  did  you  ask  ?  '  Was  Charles  my  suitor: — did 
he  love  me?'  Yes,  I  am  convinced  that  he  loves  me 
devotedly,  as  deeply  as  a  man  can  love  any  thing — as 
much,  that  is  to  say,  as  he  loves  himself!" 

And  the  young  girl  burst  into  another  fit  of  laughter, 
and  positively  shook  with  merriment. 

"  Did  you  become  well  acquainted  with  him  ?"  she 
asked,  after  a  pause ;  "  Charles  is  not  stiff— too  free  and 
easy,  I  fear,  and  I  am  sure  you — liked  him." 

"  Indeed,  I  did,"  said  Mowbray ;  "  he  was  a  great 
consolation  to  me,  and  I  always  thought  there  was 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  215 

something  strangely  familiar  in  his  face.  Singular  that  I 
never  observed  how  closely  he  resembled  you." 

"That  was  because  you  did  not  think  of  me  very 
frequently." 

Mowbray  colored. 

"I  thought  of  you  too  often,  I  fear,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Andyiever  came  to  see  me — that  is  a  probable  tale," 
she  said,  coloring  also,  and  glancing  with  a  mixture  of 
mirth  and  timidity  at  him. 

Their  eyes  met ; — those  eloquent  pleaders  said  much 
in  that  second. 

"  I  have  suffered  much,"  he  said ;  "  my  heart  is  not 
very  strong— I  was  deceived — I  could  not-- — " 

And  Mowbray  would  have  said  something  still  more 
significant  of  his  feelings,  but  for  his  companion's  pres- 
ence of  mind.  She  observed,  with  womanly  tact,  that  a 
Dumber  of  eyes  were  fixed  upon  them,  and  adroitly 
diverted  the  conversation  from  the  dangerous  direction 
it  was  taking. 

"  I  do  not  see  Charles,"  she  said,  laughing  and  blush- 
ing ;  "  did  you  not  say  he.promised  to  be  here?" 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Mowbray. 

"  He 's  a  great  idler,  but  I  love  him  very  much,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  Tell  me,  Mr.  Mowbray,  as  a  friend — 
you  know  him  well— could  I  find  a  better  husband  ?" 

Mowbray  colored. 

"  He  has  a  noble  heart,"  he  said  ;  "  do  I  understand 
that " 

"  I  love  him  ?  Yes,  I  cannot  deny  it  truly ;  and  why 
should  I  not  make  him  happy? — for  he  loves  me  sin- 
cerely." 


216  THE  YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON. 

Mowbray  felt  his  heart  sink.  Then  that  new-born 
hope  was  doomed  to  disappointment — that  fancy  was 
all  folly !  His  miseries  would  be  only  deeper  for  the 
brief  taste  of  happiness.  He  could  not  reply ;  he  only 
muttered  some  inarticulate  words,  which  Philippa  did 
not  seem  to  hear. 

"  I  will  decide  finally  on  the  day  of  the  party  at 
Shadynook,"  she  said,  smiling;  "and  now  let-«us  leave 
the  subject.  But  do  not  forget  to  tell  me  when  Charles 
enters,"  she  added,  laughing. 

Poor  Mowbray!  he  felt  his  heart  oppressed  with  a 
new  and  more  bitter  emotion.  The  company  thought 
him  happy  in  exclusive  possession  of  the  lovely  girl's 
society — his  side  was  pierced  with  a  cruel,  rankling 
thorn. 


• 

. 
' 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

THE  LAST  CHANCE  OF  JACQUES. 

¥HILE  Mowbray  and  Philippa  were  holding  their 
singular  colloquy  in  one  portion  of  the  laughing 
and  animated  crowd;  our  friend  Sir  Asinus,  with  that 
perseverance  which  characterized  his  great  intellect,  was 
endeavoring  to  make  an  impression  on  the  heart  of  the 
maiden  of  his  love.  But  it  was  all  in  vain. 

In  vain  did  Sir  Asinus  dance  minuets  without  number, 
execute  bows  beyond  example — the  little  maiden  obsti- 
nately persisted  in  bestowing  her  smiles  on  her  compan- 
ion, Bathurst. 

That  young  gentleman  finally  bore  her  off  triumphant- 
ly on  his  arm. 

Sir  Asinus  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  sent  these 
remarkable  words  after  the  little  damsel : 

"  You  have  crushed  a  faithful  heart — you  have  spurned 
a  deep  affection,  beautiful  and  fascinating  maiden.  In- 
ured to  female  charms,  and  weary  of  philosophy,  I  found 
in,  thee  the  ideal  of  my  spirit — truth  and  simplicity : 
the  fates  forbid,  and  henceforth  I  am  nought!  Never 
again  look  up,  O  maiden,  to  my  window,  when  the 
morning  sun  shines  on  it,  as  you  pass  to  school — expect  to 
see  me  in  those  fair  domains  no  more !  Henceforth  I  am 
a  wanderer,  and  am  homeless.  In  my  bark,  named  in 
past  days  the  Rebecca,  I  will  seek  some  foreign  clime, 
10 


218  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  J    OK, 

and  nevermore  return  to  these  shores.  I'll  buy  me  a 
fiddle  in  Italy,  and  hobnob  with  gondoliers,  singing  the 
songs  of  Tasso  on  Venetian  waters.  Never  again  expect 
to  see  my  face  at  the  window  as  you  go  on  merrily — I 
leave  my  native  shore  to-morrow,  and  am  gone !" 

With  which  words — words  which  terrified  the  little 
damsel  profoundly — Sir  Asinus  folded  his  arms,  and  in 
this  position,  with  a  sad  scowl  upon  his  face,  passed  forth 
into  the  night. 

As  he  reached  the  door  of  the  Raleigh,  he  perceived 
Mrs.  Wimple  and  one  or  two  elderly  ladies  getting  into  a 
chariot ;  and  behind  them  Jacques  leading  Belle-bouche 
triumphantly  toward  his  small  two-seated  vehicle. 

Jacques  was  radiant,  and  this  the  reader  may  possibly 
understand,  if  he  will  recollect  the  scheme  of  this  gentle- 
man— to  address  Belle-bouche  where  no  fate  could  inter- 
rupt him. 

As  Sir  Asinus  passed  on,  frowning,  Jacques  cast  upon 
that  gentleman  a  look  which  expressed  triumphant  hap- 
piness. 

"You  won't  interrupt  me  on  my  way  back,  will  you?" 
he  said,  smiling ;  "  eh,  my  dear  Sir  Asinus  ?" 

Sir  Asinus  ground  his  teeth. 

Belle-bouche  was  safely  stowed  into  the  vehicle — 
Jacques  gathered  up  the  reins,  was  about  to  get  in — 
when,  disastrous  fate !  the  voice  of  Mi's.  Wimple  was 
heard,  declaring  that  the  night  had  grown  too  cool  for 
her  beloved  niece  to  ride  in  the  open  air. 

Sir  Asinus  lingered  and  listened  with  sombre  pleasure. 

In  vain  did  Jacques  remonstrate,  and  Belle-bouche 
ire  the  night  delightful :  Aunt  Wimple,  strong  in 
\rs  of  night  air,  was  inexorable. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  219 

So  Belle-bouche  with  a  little  pout  got  down,  and 
Jacques  cursing  his  evil  stars,  assisted  her  into  the  cha- 
riot. 

Would  he  not  come  in,  and  spend  the  night  at  Shady- 
nook? — they  could  make  room  for  him  by  squeezing, 
said  Aunt  Wimple. 

No,  no,  he  could  not  inconvenience  them — he  would 
not  be  able  to  stay  at  Shadynook — he  hoped  they  would 
have  a  pleasant  journey ;  and  as  the  chariot  rolled  off, 
the  melancholy  Jacques  gazed  after  it  with  an  expres- 
sion of  profound  misery. 

He  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder ;  he  turned  and  saw 
Sir  Asinus.  But  Sir  Asinus  was  not  deriding  him — he 
was  groaning. 

"  Let  us  commit  suicide,"  said  the  knight,  in  gloomy 
tones. 

Jacques  started. 

"  Suicide  1" 

"  The  night  is  favorable,  and  my  hopes  are  dead,  like 
yours,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  gloomily. 

"  That  is  enough  to  kill  at  one  time,"  said  the  melan- 
choly Jacques ;  "  mine  are  not — animation  is  only  sus- 
pended. On  the  whole,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  opposed 
to  your  proposition.  Good  night !" 

And  Jacques,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  departed. 

Sir  Asinus,  with  a  gesture  gf  despair,  rushed  forth  into 
the  night.  Whether  that  gentleman  had  been  reading 
romances  or  not,  we  cannot  say ;  but  as  he  disappeared, 
he  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  a  desperate  lover  bent 
on  mischief. 

Within,  the  reel  had  now  begun — that  noble  di- 
vertisement,  before  which  all  other  dances  disappear, 


220  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;   OK, 

vanquished,  overwhelmed,  driven  from  the  field,  and 
weeping  their  departed  glories.  For  the  reel  is  a  high 
mystery — it  is  superior  to  all — it  cannot  be  danced  be- 
yond the  borders  of  Virginia — as  the  Seville  orange  of 
commerce  loses  its  flavor,  and  is  nothing.  The  reel  ends 
all  the  festivities  of  the  old  Yirginian  gatherings,  and 
crowns  with  its  supreme  merriment  the  pyramid  of  mirth. 
When  it  is  danced  properly, — to  proper  music,  by  the 
proper  persons,  and  with  proper  ardor, — all  the  elements 
break  loose.  Mirth  and  music  and  bright  eyes  respect- 
ively shower,  thunder  and  lighten.  In  the  old  days,  it 
snowed  too — for  the  powder  fell  in  alabaster  dust  and 
foamy  clouds,  and  crammed  the  air  with  fragrance. 

As  for  the  reel  which  they  danced  at  the  Raleigh 
tavern,  in  the  Apollo  room,  upon  the  occasion  we  allude 
to,  who  shall  speak  of  it  with  adequate  justice?  Jacques 
lost  it — tulip-like,  the  king  of  grace — Belle-bouche  was 
with  him  ;  and  a  thousand  eyes  were  on  the  maze, — the 
maze  which  flashed,  and  buzzed,  and  rustled,  ever  mer- 
rier— and  glittered  with  its  diamonds  and  far  brighter 
eyes— -and  ever  grew  more  tangled  and  more  simple, 
one  and  many,  complicate  and  single,  while  the  music 
roared  above  in  flashing  cadences  and  grand  ambrosial 
grace. 

And  merrier  feet  were  never  seen.  The  little  maidens 
seemed  to  pour  their  hearts  out  in  the  enchanting  diver- 
tisenient,  and  the  whole  apartment,  with  its  dazzling 
lights  and  flowers,  was  full  of  laughter,  mirth,  and  holi- 
day from  end  to  end.  When  the  final  roar  of  the  vio- 
lins dropped  into  silence,  and  so  crumbled  into  nothing, 
all  was  ended.  Cavaliers  offered  their  arms — ladies 
put  on  their  hoods — chariots  drove  up  and  received  their 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  221 

burdens ;  and  in  another  hour,  the  joyous  festival  was 
but  a  recollection.     After  the  reel — nothingness. 

The  Apollo  room  was  still  again — waiting  for  other 
men  than  youthful  gallants,  other  words  than  flattering 
compliments. 

And  Mowbray  went  home  with  a  wounded  heart, 
which  all  the  smiles  of  Philippa  could  not  heal — for 
Hoffland  was  his  rival.  Denis  went  home  with  a  happy 
heart,  for  Lucy  had  smiled  on  him.  Sir  Asinus  was 
miserable — boy  Bathurst  was  happy.  The  ball  at  the 
Raleigh  was  a  true  microcosm,  where  John  smiled  and 
James  sighed,  and  all  played  on,  and  went  away  miser- 
able or  the  reverse. 

And  so  it  ended. 

. 

. 

• 

- 


' 

• 
• 

• 


CHAPTEE   XXYIII. 

SIR    A8INUB    INTENDS    FOR    ETJKOPE. 

THE  morning  of  the  May-day  festival  dawned  bright 
and  joyous ; — nature  seemed  to  be  smiling,  and  the 
"rosy-bosomed  hours"  began  their  flight  toward  the 
west,  with  that  brilliant  splendor  which  they  always 
deck  themselves  in,  in  the  merry  month  of  May. 

Jacques  rose  early,  and  was  at  his  mirror  betimes. 
He  had  selected  a  suit  of  extraordinary  richness,  made 
with  express  reference  to  the  rainbow ;  and  when  he 
drew  on  his  coat,  and  took  a  last  survey  of  himself  in  the 
mirror,  he  smiled — no  longer  sighed — and  thought  of 
Belle-bouche  with  the  triumphant  feeling  of  a  general 
who  has  driven  the  enemy  at  last  into  a  corner. 

He  issued  forth  and  mounted  his  gay  charger,  which, 
with  original  and  brilliant  taste,  he  had  decked  with 
ribbons  for  the  joyous  festival ;  and  as  he  got  into  the 
saddle  and  gathered  up  the  reins,  a  little  crowd  of  di- 
minutive negro  boys,  with  sadly  dilapidated  garments, 
cringed  before  him,  and  threw  up  their  caps  and  split  the 
air  with  "hoora's"  in  his  honor. 

Jacques  pranced  forth  from  the  Raleigh  stable  yard  in 
state,  and  took  his  way  along  Gloucester  street,  the  ad- 
miration of  every  beholder.  He  was  going  to  glory  and 
conquest — probably :  he  was  on  his  way  to  happiness — 
perhaps.  He  felt  a  sentiment  of  benevolent  regard  for 


A    CHRONICLE    OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  223 

all  the  human  family,  and  even,  in  passing,  cast  his 
thoughts  on  Sir  Asinus. 

That  gentleman's  window  was  open,  and  something 
strange  seemed  to  be  going  on  within. 

And  as  Jacques  drew  nearer,  he  observed  a  placard 
dangling  from  the  window.  This  placard  bore  in  huge 
letters  the  mournful  words : 

"THE  WITHIN  INTENDS  FOR  EUROPE  ON  THE  MORROW." 

Jacques  felt  his  conscience  smite  him — he  could  not 
let  his  friend  depart  without  bidding  him  adieu.  He 
dismounted,  tied  his  horse,  and  laughing  to  himself,  as- 
cended to  the  chamber  of  the  knight. 

A  sad  sight  awaited  him. 

Seated  upon  a  travelling  trunk,  with  a  visage  which 
had  become  elongated  to  a  really  distressing  degree,  Sir 
Asinus  was  sighing,  and  casting  a  last  lingering  look 
behind. 

His  apartment  was  in  great  disorder — presenting 
indeed  that  negligent  appearance  which  rooms  are  ac- 
customed to  present,  when  their  occupants  are  about  to 
depart.  The  books  were  all  stowed  away  in  boxes — the 
pictures  taken  down — the  bed  unmade — the  sofa  littered 
with  papers,  and  the  violin,  and  flute — the  general  air  of 
the  desolate  room,  that  of  a  man  who  has  parted  with 
his  last  hope  and  wishes  to  exist  no  longer. 

But  the  appearance  of  Sir  Asinus  was  worse  than  that 
of  his  apartment. 

"Good  morning,  my  dear  Jacques,"  said  the  knight, 
sighing;  "you  visit  me  at  a  sad  moment." 

Jacques  smiled. 

"  I  am  just  on  the  wing." 

"  As  I  see." 


224  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OB, 

"  From  my  placard,  eh  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  have  you  any  commands  ?" 

"For  Europe?" 

"Precisely." 

"Well — no,"  said  Jacques,  with  indecorous  levity; 
"  except  that  you  will  present  my  respects  to  Pitt  and 
Barre." 

"  Scoffer !" 

"Hey!  who  scoffed?" 

"You!" 

"I  did  not." 

"  You  laugh,  unworthy  friend  that  you  are,"  said  Sir 
Asinus ;  "  you  deride  me." 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  You  rejoice  at  my  departure." 

"No." 

"  At  any  rate,  you  are  not  sorry,"  said  Sir  Asinus, 
sighing ;  "  and  I  return  the  compliment.  I  myself  am 
not  sorry  to  part  with  the  unworthy  men  who  have  mis- 
understood me,  and  persecuted  me.  A  martyr  to  politi- 
cal ideas— to  love  for  my  country — I  go  to  foreign  lands 
to  seek  a  home." 

And  having  uttered  this  melancholy  sentence,  the 
woful  knight  twirled  his  thumbs,  and  sighed  piteously. 

As  for  Jacques,  he  smiled. 

"  When  do  you  leave  ?"  he  said. 

Sir  Asinus  pointed  to  the  placard. 

"  On  the  morrow  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  there  is  time  yet  to  attend  the  May-festival  at 
Shadynook.  Come  along." 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  225 

"'  No,  no,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  sighing ;  "  no,  I  thank 
you.  I  have  had  all  my  noble 'aspirations  chilled — my 
grand  ideas  destroyed ;  my  heart  is  no  longer  fit  for 
merriment.  I  depart." 

And  rising,  Sir  Asinus  seated  himself  upon  the  table 
disconsolately. 

Jacques  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  Asinus,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
present  at  this  moment  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
picture  ?  When  a  great  man  suffers,  the  world  should 
weep." 

"  Instead  of  which,  you  laugh." 

"  I  ?     I  am  not  laughing." 

"  You  are  smiling." 

"  That  is  because,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  am 
nearly  happy." 

"Happy?  Would  that  I  were!  Happy?  It  is  a 
word  which  I  seldom  have  use  for,"  said  Sir  Asinus, 
dangling  his  legs  and  sighing  piteously. 

"  Why  not  endeavor  to  use  it  ?" 

"I  cannot." 

"  Come  and  laugh  with  us  at  Shadynook." 

"  I  no  longer  laugh." 

"  You  weep  ?" 

"  No :  my  grief  is  too  deep  for  tears — it.is  dried  up — . 
I  mean  the  tears." 

"  Poor  fellow !" 

"  There  you  are  pitying  my  afflictions — spare  me !" 

"  I  do  pity  you.  To  see  the  noble  and  joyous  Sir 
Asinus  grow  melancholy — to  see  those  legs,  which  ers* 
glided  through  the  minuet  and  reel,  now  dangling  wearilj 


226  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  |   OK, 

— to  see  that  handsome  visage  so  drawn  down  ;  is  there 
no  occasion  for  pity  ?" 

And  Jacques  sighed. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Sir  Asinus,  "  I  am  glad  you  came, 
spite  of  your  unworthy  banter,  you  unfeeling  fellow.  I 
I  wish  to  send  some  messages  to  my  friends." 

"  What  are  they  ?" 

"  First,  to  Belle-bouche — love  and  remembrance." 

"  That  is  beautiful ;  and  I  never  knew  these  words  yet 
fail  to  touch  the  heart." 

"  To  all  the  boys,  the  fond  regards  of  him  who  goes 
from  them — a  martyr  to  the  attempt  to  uphold  their 
rights." 

"That  is  affecting  too." 

"  To  the  4ittle  dame  who  passed  with  you  some  days 
ago — Miss  Martha  Wayles  by  name — but  no  ;  nothing 
to  her." 

And  Sir  Asinus  groaned. 

"  Nothing  ?"  said  Jacques. 

"  No ;  the  memory  of  my  love  for  her  shall  never 
grieve  her ;  let  us  say  no  more,  Jacques,  my  friend.  I 
have  finished." 

"  And  what  do  you  leave  to  me  ?"  said  Jacques. 

"My  affection." 

"  I  would  prefer  that  violin." 

"  No,  no,  my  friend  ;  it  will  comfort  me  on  my  voy- 
age: Now  farewell !" 

"  Shall  I  see  you  no  more  3" 

"No  more." 

"Why?" 

"  Do  I  not  depart  to-day  ?" 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCKAPE8.  227 

"  True,  true,"  said  Jacques  ;  "  and  if  you  really  must 
go,  farewell.  Write  to  me." 

"  Yes."  ' 

"  Let  us  embrace." 

"  Willingly." 

And  Sir  Asinus  caught  his  friend  in  his  arms  and 
sniffled. 

Jacques,  with  his  head  over  his  friend's  shoulder, 
chuckled. 

"  Now  farewell,"  said  Sir  Asinus  ;  "  perhaps  some  day 
I  may  return — farewell." 

And  covering  his  eyes,  he  turned  away. 

Jacques  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief — pressed  his 
friend's  hand  for  the  last  time,  and  departed. 

He  mounted  his  horse,  gathered  up  the  reins,  and  set 
forward  again  toward  Shadynook,  leaving  the  discon- 
solate Sir  Asinus  to  finish  his  preparations  for  departure 
in  his  beautiful  sail-boat  the  Rebecca. 

Poor  Sir  Asinus !  He  had  not  the  courage  to  call  it 
the  Martha :  disappointed  in  love  and  politics,  he  no 
longer  clung  to  either,  and  thought  the  best  name  after 
all  would  be  the  MAKTYK. 


' 

x 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

'• 

THE  MAY  FESTIVAL. 

TF  not  as  splendid  as  the  great  ball  at  the  Raleigh,  the 
JL  festival  at  Shadynook  was  declared  by  all  to  be  far 
more  pleasant. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  forenoon  bevies  of  lovely  girls 
and  graceful  cavaliers  began  to  arrive,  and  the  various 
parties  scattered  themselves  over  the  lawn,  the  garden, 
through  the  grove  and  the  forest,  with  true  sylvan  free- 
dom and  unrestraint. 

Shadynook,  thanks  to  the  active  exertions  of  Belle- 
bouche  and  Philippa,  was  one  bower  of  roses  and  other 
flowers.  All  the  windows  were  festooned  with  them — 
the  tables  were  great  pyramids  of  wreaths ;  and  out 
upon  the  lawn  the  blossoms  from  the  trees  showered 
down  upon  the  animated  throng,  and  made  the  children 
laugh — for  many  little  girls  were  there — and  snowing  on 
the  cavaliers,  made  them  like  heralds  of  the  spring ;  and 
lying  on  the  earth,  a  rosy  velvet  carpet,  almost  made  the 
old  poetic  fiction  true,  and  gave  the  damsels  of  the 
laughing  crowd  an  opportunity  to  walk  "  ankle-deep  in 
flowers." 

The  harpsichord  was  constantly  in  use  ;  and  those  old 
Scottish  songs,  which  echo  now  like  some  lost  memory 
to  our  grandfathers  and  grandmothers — we  are  writing 
of  those  personages — glided  on  the  air  from  coral  lips, 


A   CHEONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCKAPES.  229 

and  made  the  spring  more  bright;  and  many  gallant 
hearts  were  there  enslaved,  and  sighed  whenever  they 
heard  sung  again  those  joyous  or  sad  ditties  of  the  Scot- 
tish muse. 

Books  lay  about  with  lovely  poems  in  them — written 
by  the  fine  old  Sucklings  and  Tom  Stanleys — breathing 
high  chivalric  homage  to  the  fair ;  and  volumes  of  en- 
gravings, full  of  castles  or  bright  pictures  of  Arcadian 
scenes — brought  thither  by  the  melancholy  Jacques  as 
true-love  offerings — or  sunset  views  where  evening  died 
away  a  purple  margin  on  the  blue  Italian  skies. 

And  here  and  there,  on  mantelpieces  and  side-tables, 
were  grotesque  ornaments  in  china  ;  and  odd  figures  cut 
in  glass  of  far  Bohemia ;  and  painted  screens  and  em- 
broidery. And  through  the  crowd  ran  yelping  more 
than  one  small  lap-dog,  trodden  on  by  children,  who 
cried  out  with  merriment  thereat. 

Belle-bouche  had  rightly  judged  that  many  children 
should  be  invited ;  for  if  bouquets  are  bright  and  plea- 
sant, so  are  merry  childish  faces  ;  and  so  dozens  of  young 
maidens,  scarcely  in  their  teens,  and  full  of  wild  delight, 
ran  here  and  there,  playing  with  each  other,  and  seeking 
Belle-bouche — kind,  loving  Belle-bouche — every  now  and 
then,  to  say  that  something  was  so  pretty,  and  she  was 
so  good !  Whereat  Belle-bouche  would  smile,  and  play 
with  their  curls,  and  they  would  run  and  play  again. 

There  was 'this  observable  fact  about  the  young  lady 
who  has  appeared  so  frequently  in  our  little  narrative, 
illustrating  its  dull  pages  with  her  languishing  and  joy- 
ful smiles,  showering  upon  it  the  tender  grace  of  her  fair 
countenance  and  innocent  eyes — there  was  this  to  be 
observed,  we  say,  that  Belle-bouche  loved  and  was  be- 


230  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

loved  by  children.  She  always  had  them  round  her 
when  she  went  where  they  were,  smiling  and  looking  up 
to  her  with  innocent  faces— from  the  little  infantile  prat- 
tlers just  from  the  nursery,  to  those  who,  passing  into 
their  bright  teens,  began  to  study  how  they  might  best 
fulfil  their  duty  in  society — enslave  the  gallants.  All 
loved  Belle-bouche,  and  on  this  occasion  she  had  scarcely 
a  moment's  rest. 

Her  own  companions  loved  her  too  devotedly,  and  if 
any  one  had  asked  the  crowd  assembled,  what  was  the 
brightest  picture,  the  fairest  ornament  of  the  whole 
festival,  they  would  have  with  one  voice  declared — the 
little  hostess.  Philippa,  with  her  queenly  brow  and 
ready  laughter,  did  not  receive  one-half  the  devoted 
attention  which  was  lavished  on  her  companion;  and 
indeed  Belle-bouche  was  the  toast  of  the  whole  assembly. 

The  finest  cavaliers  gathered  around  her  and  paid  her 
their  addresses — all  smiled  on  her,  and  paid  homage  to 
her.  Her  joy  was  full. 

But  see  the  finest  gentleman  of  all  approach — the  no 
longer  melancholy,  the  joyful  and  superb  knight  of  the 
ribbon-decorated  horse ! 

Jacques  approached  with  the  air  of  a  captive  prince — 
submissive,  yet  proud.  He  smiled. 

"  Beautiful  queen  of  May,"  he  said,  trailing  his  plumed 
hat  upon  the  floor,  "behold  your  slave.  Never  did 
shepherd  in  the  vales  of  Arcady  pay  truer  homage  to 
his  Daphne's  charms  than  I  do  to  those  of  our  hostess !" 

This  was  considered  a  pretty  speech,  and  Belle-bouche 
was  about  to  reply  with  a  smile,  when  little  Martha 
Wayles,  who  was  present  in  a  pink-gauze  dress  and  lace, 
cried : 


A   CHRONICLE   OF  COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  231 

"  Oh,  my  goodness  !  just  look  there  !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  company. 

"There,  through  the  window,"  said  little  Martha, 
blushing  at  the  attention  she  excited. 

"What?" 

"That  horse  with  ribbons !" 

The  company  gazed  through  the  window,  and  began 
to  laugh.  There  indeed  was  the  horse  of  Jacques, 
splendid  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  pawing  and 
tossing  his  head  as  the  groom  led  him  away. 

"  A  little  romance  of  mine,"  said  Jacques,  smiling ; 
"I  trust  'tis  not  considered  in  bad  taste — I  had  a 
crook " 

"  A  crook  ?" 

"  Yes,  wreathed  with  flowers,  as  was  the  custom,  I 
believe,  in  Arcadia ;  but  I  feared  it  would  attract  atten- 
tion in  the  town,  and  I  left  it,"  said  Jacques,  with  lamb- 
like innocence. 

This  sally  was  greeted  with  tumultuous  applause. 

"  A  crook !"  cried  the  damsels. 

"  An  excellent  idea  !" 

"  So  sylvan !" 

"  And  so  appropriate !" 

"  We  may  have  as  many  as  we  fancy,  I  believe,"  said 
Jacques,  smiling ;  "  I  have  prepared  a  number  as  an  in- 
troduction to  the  festival :  they  are  in  the  garden,  ladies, 
already  wreathed  with  flowers  !" 

The  company  rose  in  a  mass  to  go  and  get  them,  and 
soon  they  were  in  the  garden  ;  then  scattered  over  the 
lawn ;  then  every  where,  laughing,  making  merry,  and 
behaving  like  a  crowd  of  children  released  from  school. 
The  damsels  acted  shepherdesses  to  perfection,  and 


232  THE    YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON  J    OR, 

closely  resembled  the  pictures  we  are  accustomed  to  see 
upon  the  fans  which  ladies  use  even  to  the  present  day. 
Their  little  airs  of  sylvan  simplicity  were  very  pretty ; 
and  the*  gallant  gentlemen  were  not  backward  in  their 
part.  They  bowed  and  simpered  until  they  resembled 
so  many«upple-jacks,  pulled  by  the  finger  of  a  child. 

"£ook,"  said  Jacques  to  Belle-bouche,  and  sighing 
slightly  as  he  gazed  upon  the  fresh  beauty  of  her  face ; 
"  see  those  lovers  yonder " 

"  Lovers  ?"  said  Belle-bouche,  smiling. 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  think,"  said  Jacques ;  "  yes, 
yes,  my  queen,  they  are  lovers.  Do  you  not  think  that 
something  like  that  which  I  spoke  of  formerly  will  come 
to  pass  ?" 

Belle-bouche,  with  a  delicious  little  rose-color  brighten- 
ing her  cheek,  replied,  patting  her  satin-sandalled  foot 
upon  the  flowery  sward : 

"  "Which  you  spoke  of — pray,  what  did  you  speak  of?" 

"  Of  my  wish  to  be  a  shepherd " 

"Ah — a  shepherd,"  said  Belle-bouche,  removing  a 
cherry  blossom  from  her  hair,  and  smiling. 

"Yes,  my  lovely  queen,"  said  Jacques,  with  great 
readiness;  "I  wished  to  be  a  shepherd  and  have  a 
crook " 

"Oh,  sir!" 

"  And  that  my  Arcadian  love  should  also  have  one 
and  draw  me — so  that  passing  through  the  fields " 

«  Oh,  yes " 

"  I  might  kiss  her  hand " 

"  Yes,  yes " 

"And  passing  through  the  forests  wrap  her  in  my 
cloak " 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  233 

Belle-bouche  laughed. 

"  And  crossing  the  streams  on  narrow  moss-clad  logs, 
support  her  with  my  arm — as  the  dearest  and  most 
blessed  treasure  upon  earth!"  cried  Jacques,  seizing  the 
hand  of  Belle-bouche,  which  hung  down,  and  enraptured 
that  she  did  not  withdraw  it. 

Belle-bouche  understood  perfectly  that  Jacuqes  re- 
ferred to  their  meeting  on  that  day  when  she  had  been 
reading  in  the  forest,  and  had  fled  from  him  across  the 
stream.  Her  roseate  blush  betrayed  her. 

"  If  only  that  bright  dream  of  love  could  be  a  reality 
for  me !"  he  whispered  ;  "  if  one  I  love  so " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Bel !  the  girls  sent  for  you — the  pyramid 
is  ready  !"  cried  the  merry  voice  of  little  Martha. 

And  running  toward  Belle-bouche,  the  girl  told  her 
that  they  really  must  have  her  in  the  garden  "  before 
the  procession  commenced." 

Poor  Jacques  drew  back  groaning. 

"  There 's  another  chance  gone  !"  he  sighed  ;  "  what 
luck  I  have !  I  'm  always  interrupted,  and  the  fates  are 
leagued  against  me." 

Belle-bouche  left  him  with  a  blush  and  a  smile,  and 
disappeared. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  the  company  had  reassembled 
on  the  lawn,  and  seemed  to  be  anxiously  expecting  some- 
thing. 

This  something  suddenly  made  its  appearance,  and 
advanced  into  the  open  space  with  merriment  and 
laughter. 

It  was  a  party  of  young  girls  who,  clad  in  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow,  bore  in  their  midst  a  pyramid  of 
silver  dishes  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  overflowing1 


234  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFERSON;    OK, 

with  strawberries  and  early  fruits.  It  was  a  revival  of 
the  old  May-day  ceremonies  in  London,  when  the  milk- 
maids wreathed  their  buckets  with  flowers,  and  passed 
from  door  to  door,  singing  and  asking  presents.  Jacques 
had  arranged  it  all — the  philosophic  and  antiquarian 
Jacques ;  and  with  equal  taste  he  had  selected  the  beauti- 
ful verses  of  Marlow  or  Shakspeare,  for  the  chorus  of 
maidens. 

The  maidens  approached  the  company,  therefore,  mer- 
rily singing,  in  their  childlike  voices,  the  song : 

"  Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove 
That  valleys,  groves,  or  hills,  or  fields, 
Or  woods  and  steepy  mountains  yields  ; 

"  Where  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks 
And  see  the  shepherds  feed  our  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers,  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

"  And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses, 
And  then  a  thousand  fragrant  posies ; 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle, 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrt!e  ; 

"  A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pull ; 
Slippers  lined  choicely  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold ; 

"  A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy  buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs  : 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  love." 

As  the  song  ended,  little  Martha  came  forth  from  the 


A   CHEOXIOLE    OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  235 

tlirong,  and  holding  in  her  hand  a  small  crook,  went 
round  with  a  very  laughing  face  asking  charity  from  the 
applauding  company. 

"  Only  a  penny,  sir  I"  she  said,  motioning  back  a  pis- 
tole which  Mr.  Jack  Denis  held  out  gaily. 

And  then — the  collection  ended — the  young  girls  of 
the  masquerade  hurried  back  to  rid  themselves  of  their 
pyramid. 

Mr.  Jack  Denis  and  Miss  Lucy  Mowbray,  who  had 
just  arrived  with  her  brother,  bent  their  steps  toward 
the  grove,  through  which  ran  a  purling  stream;  and 
thither  they  were  followed  after  a  little  by  Miss  Martha 
Wayles  and  her  admirer,  Bathurst.  "We  cannot  follow 
them  and  listen  to  their  conversation — that  would  be  in- 
decorous. But  we  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  two 
young  ladies — one  very  young — on  that  morning  plighted 
their  troth  to  two  young  gentlemen — one  very  young. 
And  if  they  blushed  somewhat  upon  returning,  it  was 
an  honest  blush,  which  the  present  chronicler  for  one 
will  not  laugh  at. 

In  the  garden  all  by  this  time  was  joyous  and  wild 
merriment.  The  young  ladies  were  running  here  and 
there ;  servants  were  preparing  in  a  flowery  retreat  a 
long  table  full  of  fruits  and  every  delicacy ;  and  merriest 
of  all,  Miss  Philippa  was  scattering  on  every  side  her 
joyous  and  contagious  laughter. 

Suddenly  this  laughter  of  the  young  lady  ceased,  and 
she  colored  slightly. 

She  saw  Mowbray  looking  at  her  with  a  glance  of  so 
much  love,  that  she  could  not  support  his  gaze. 

In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side.  "  Will  you  not  walk 
with  me  ?"  she  said,  without  waiting  for  him  to  address 


236  THE   YOUTH   OF   JEFFEKSON  ;    OK, 

her  ;  and  in  a  moment  her  arm  was  in  his  own,  and  they 
were  strolling  away.  They  went  toward  a  noble  old 
oak,  in  the  branches  of  which  was  fixed  a  platform,  and 
this  platform  was  approached  by  a  movable  sort  of 
ladder.  The  leaves  around  the  platform  were  so  dense 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see  any  one  who  might  be 
sitting  within. 

As  Mowbray  and  Philippa  approached,  the  ladder 
was  seen  suddenly  to  move,  a  little  exclamation  was 
heard,  and  the  next  moment  the  movable  steps  rose  erect, 
balanced  themselves  for  an  instant,  and  fell  to  the 
ground,  cutting  off  all  connection  between  the  platform 
and  the  ground. 

At  the  same  moment  a  triumphant  voice  muttered  : 

"Now  let  me  see  them  interrupt  me!" 

Mowbray  and  Philippa  did  not  hear  it ;  they  passed 
on,  silent  and  embarrassed. 

Philippa,  it  was  evident,  had  something  to  say,  and 
scarcely  knew  how  to  begin ;  she  hesitated,  laughed, 
blushed,  and  patted  the  ground  petulantly  with  her  little 
foot.  At  last  she  said,  with  a  smile  and  a  blush : 

"  I  asked  you  to  offer  me  your  arm  for  an  especial 
purpose.  Can  you  guess  what  that  purpose  was  ?" 

Mowbray  smiled,  and  replied : 

"  I  am  afraid  not." 

"  I  wished  to  tell  you  a  tale." 

"A  tale?" 

"  A  history,  if  you  please ;  and  as  you  are  a  thinker, 
and  an  impartial  one,  to  ask  your  opinion." 

"  1  am  sure  you  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honor,"  said 
Mowbray,  smiling  with  happiness  ;  "  I  listen." 

Philippa  cast  down  her  eyes,  patted  the  ground  more 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  237 

violently  than  before  with  her  silken-sandalled  foot,  and 
biting  her  lip,  was  silent. 

Mowbray  looked  at  her,  and  saw  the  blush  upon  her 
cheek.  She  raised  her  head — their  eyes  met;  and  the 
blush  deepened. 

"  Do  not  look  at  me,"  she  said,  turning  away  her  head 
and  bursting  into  a  constrained  laugh;  "I  never  could 
bear  to  have  any  one  look  at  me." 

"  It  is  a  very  severe  request,  but  I  will  obey  you,"  he 
said,  smiling  ;  "  now  for  your  history." 

"  It  will  surprise  you,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  with  her 
daring  laugh  again  ;  "  but  listen.  Do  not  interrupt  me. 
Well,  sir,  once  upon  a  time — you  see  I  begin  in  true  tale 
fashion — once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  young  girl  who 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  very  rich.  She  had  been  left 
an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  never  knew  the  love  and 
tenderness  of  parents.  "Well,  sir,  as  was  very  natural, 
this  young  woman,  with  all  her  wealth,  experienced  one 
want — but  that  was  a  great  one — the  necessity  of  having 
some  one  to  love  her.  I  will  be  brief,  sir — let  me  go  on 
uninterruptedly.  One  day  this  young  woman  saw  pass 
before  her  a  man  whose  eyes  and  words  proved  that  he 
had  some  affection  for  her — enough  that  it  was  after- 
wards shown  that  she  was  not  mistaken.  At  the  time, 
however,  she  doubted  his  affection.  Her  unhappy 
wealth  had  made  her  suspicious,  and.  she  experienced  a 
sort  of  horror  of  giving  her  heart  to  some  one  who  loved 
her  wealth  and  not  herself.  Let  me  go  on,  sir  !  I  must 
not  be  interrupted  !  "Well,  she  doubted  this  gentleman  ; 
and  one  day  said  to  him  what  she  afterwards  bitterly 
regretted.  She  determined  to  charge  him  with  merce- 
nary intentions,  and  watch  his  looks  and  listen  to  his 


238  THE    YOUTH    OF   JEFFERSON  ;    OR, 

words,  and  test  him.  He  listened,  replied  coldly,  and 
departed,  leaving  her  nearly  heart-broken,  for  his  nature 
was  not  one  which  any  woman  could  despise." 

Mowbray  looked  at  her  strangely.     She  went  on. 

"She  watched  for  him  day  after  day — he  did  not 
come.  She  was  angry,  and  yet  troubled  ;  she  doubted, 
and  yet  tried  to  justify  herself.  But  even  when  he  left 
her,  she  had  conceived  a  mad  scheme — it  was  to  go  and 
become  his  companion,  and  so  test  him.  This  she  did, 
assuming  the  dress  of  a  man  :  was  it  not  very  indelicate, 
sir,  and  could  she  have  been  a  lady  ?  I  see  you.  start — 
but  do  not  interrupt  me.  Let  me  go  on.  The  young 
woman  assumed,  as  I  said,  an  impenetrable  disguise 
— ingratiated  herself  with  him,  and  found  out  all  his 
secrets.  The  precious  secret  which  she  had  thus  braved 
conventionality  to  discover,  was  her  own.  He  loved 
her — yea!  he  loved  her !"  said  the  young  girl,  with 
a  tremor  of  the  voice  and  a  beating  heart ;  "  she  could 
not  be  mistaken!  In  moments  of  unreserve,  of  confi- 
dence, he  told  her  all,  as  one  friend  tells  another,  and 
she  knew  that  she  was  loved.  Then  she  threw  off  her 
.disguise — finding  him  noble  and  sincere—and  came  to 
him  and  told  him  all.  She  saw  that  he  was  incredulous 
—could  not  realize  such  indelicacies  in  the  woman  he 
loved ;  and  to  make  her  humiliation  complete,  she 
proved  to  him,  by  producing  a  trifle  he  had  given  her, 
in  her  disguise — like  this,  sir." 

And  Philippa  with  a  trembling  hand  drew  forth  the 
fringed  gloves  which  she  had  procured  from  Mow!) ray 
at  the  Indian  Camp.  They  fell  from  her  outstretched 
hand — it  shook. 

Mowbray  was  pale,  and  his  eyes  were  full  of  wonder. 


A    CHRONICLE  OF    COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  239 

"  Before  leaving  him.  this  audacious  young  girl  was 
more  than  once  convinced  that  the  wild  and  unworthy 
freak  she  had  undertaken  to  play,  would  lower  her  in 
his  estimation  ;  but  she  did  not  draw  back.  Her  train  • 
ing  had  been  bad ;  she  enjoyed  her  liberty.  Not  until 
she  had  resumed  the  dress  of  her  sex,  did  she  awake  to 
the  consciousness  of  the  great  social  transgression  she 
had  been  guilty  of.  She  then  went  to  him  and  told  him 
all,  and  stopped  him  when  he  tried  to  speak — do  not 
speak,  sir! — and  bade  him  read  the  words  she  had 
written  him,  as  she  left  him " 

Mowbray,  with  an  unconscious  movement,  took  from 
his  pocket  the  letter  left  by  Hoffland  in  the  post-office, 
on  the  morning  of  the  ball. 

Philippa  took  it  from  his  hand  and  opened  it. 

"  Pardon,  Ernest !" 

These  words  were  all  it  contained ;  .and  the  young  girl 
pointing  to  them,  dropped  the  letter  and  burst  into  a 
flood  of  passionate  tears.  Her  impulsive  nature  had 
fairly  spent  itself,  and  but  for  the  circling  arm  of  Mow- 
bray  she  would  have  fallen. 

In  a  moment  her  head  was  on  his  bosom — she  was 
weeping  passionately ;  and  Mowbray  forgot  all,  and  only 
saw  the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

Need  we  say  that  he  did  not  utter  one  word  of  com- 
ment on  her  narrative?  Poor  Mowbray!  he  was  no 
statue,  and  the  hand  which  she  had  promised  him 
laughingly  on  that  morning,  now  lay  in  his  own ;  the 
proud  and  haughty  girl  was  conquered  by  a  power  far 
stronger  than  her  pride ;  and  over  them  the  merry  blos- 
soms showered,  the  orioles  sang,  and  Nature  laughed  to 
see  her  perfect  triumph. 


24:0  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OR, 

When  Philippa  returned  to  the  company  she  was  very 
silent,  and  blushed  deeply,  holding  to  her  face  the  hand- 
kerchief which  Hoffland  had  picked  up.  But  no  one 
noticed  her ;  all  was  in  confusion. 

Where  was  Belle-bouche  ?  That  was  the  question, 
and  a  hundred  voices  asked  it.  She  had  disappeared  ; 
and  Jacques  too  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  banquet 
was  ready ;  where  was  the  hostess  ? 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  all  this  uproar  that  a  voice  was 
heard  from  the  great  oak,  and  looking  up,  the  laughing 
throng  perceived  the  radiant  face  of  Jacques  framed 
among  the  leaves,  and  looking  on  them. 

"My  friends,"  said  Jacques,  "the  matter  is  very 
simple — be  good  enough  to  raise  those  steps." 

And  the  cavalier  pointed  to  the  prostrate  ladder. 

With  a  burst  of  laughter,  the  steps  were  raised  and 
placed  against  the  o.ak.  And  then  Jacques  was  observed 
to  place  his  foot  upon  them,  leading  by  the  hand — Belle- 
bouche. 

Belle-bouche  was  blushing  much  more  deeply  than 
Philippa ;  and  Jacques  was  the  picture  of  happiness.  Is 
it  too  much  to  suppose  that  he  had  this  time  stolen  a 
march  on  the  inimical  fates,  and  forced  Belle-bouche  to 
answer  him  ?  Is  it  extravagant  to  fancy  that  her  reply 
was  not,  No  ? 

And  so  they  descended,  and  the  company,  laughing  at 
the  mishap,  hastened  toward  the  flower  and  fruit  deco- 
rated table,  and  the  banquet  inaugurated  itself  joyously. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all,  who  should  make  his  appear- 
ance but — the  gallant  Sir  Asinns  !  Sir  Asinus,  no  longer 
intending  for  Europe,  but  satisfied  with  Virginia ;  no 
longer  woful,  but  in  passable  good  spirits ;  no  longer 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  241 

melancholy,  but  surveying  those  around  him  with  affec- 
tionate regard. 

And  see  him,  in  the  midst  of  laughter  and  applause, 
mount  on  the  end  of  a  barrel  which  had  held  innumera- 
ble cakes,  holding  a  paper  in  his  hand,  and  calling  for 
attention. 

Listen ! 

"  Whereas,"  reads  Sir  Asinus,  "  the  undersigned  has 
heretofore  at  different  times  expressed  opinions  of  his 
Majesty,  and  of  the  Established  Church,  and  of  the 
noble  aristocracy  of  England  and  Virginia,  derogatory 
to  the  character  of  the  said  Majesty,  and  so  forth  ; — also, 
whereas,  he  has  unjustly  slandered  the  noble  and  sub- 
lime College  of  William  and  Mary,  so  called  from  their 
gracious  majesties,  deceased; — and  whereas,  the  said 
opinions  have  caused  great  personal  inconvenience  to 
the  undersigned,  and  whereas  he  is  tired  of  martyrdom 
and  exile  :  Therefore,  be  it  hereby  promulgated,  that  the 
undersigned  doth  here  and  now  publicly  declare  himself 
ashamed  of  the  said  opinions,  and  doth  abjure  them: 
And  doth  declare  his  Majesty  George  HI.  the  greatest 
of  kings  since  Dionysius  of  Syracuse  and  Nero  ;  and  his 
great  measure,  the  Stamp  Act,  the  noblest  legislation 
since ^the  edict  of  Nantz.  And  further,  the  undersigned 
doth  uphold  the  great  Established  Church,  and  revere 
its  ministers,  so  justly  celebrated  for  their  piety  and  card- 
playing,  their  proficiency  in  theology,  and  their  familiar- 
ity with  that  great  religious  epic  of  the  Reformation, 
'Reynard  the  Fox' — the  study  of  which  they  pursue 
even  on  horseback.  And  lastly,  the  said  undersigned 
doth  honor  the  great  college  of  Virginia,  and  revere 
the  aristocracy,  and  respect  entails,  and  spurn  the  com- 
11 


242  THE   YOUTH    OF   JEFFEKSON. 

mon  classes  as  becomes  a  gentleman  and  honest  citizen ; 
and  in  all  other  things  doth  conform  himself  to  es- 
tablished rules,  being  convinced  that  whatever  is,  is 
right :  and  to  the  same  hath  set  his  hand,  this  twentieth 
day  of  May,  in  the  year  1764." 

Having  finished  which,  Sir  Asinus  casts  a  melancholy 
glance  upon  little  Martha,  and  adds  : 

"Kow,  my  friends,  let  us  proceed  to  enjoy  the  mate- 
rial comforts.  Let  us  begin  to  eat,  my  friends." 

And  sitting  down  upon  the  barrel,  the  knight  seizes  a 
goblet  and  raises  it  aloft,  and  drinks  to  all  the  crowd. 

And  all  the  crowd  do  likewise,  laughing  merrily ;  and 
over  them  the  blossoms  shower  with  every  odorous 
breeze ;  and  with  the  breeze  mingles  a  voice  which 
whispers  in  a  maiden's  ear : 

"Arcadia  at  last!" 


CHAPTEK  XXX. 

ILLUSTKATIONS. 

T)EKHAPS  a  few  veritable  extracts  from  the  pub- 
JL  lished  correspondence  of  him  whom,  following  a 
habit  of  his  own,  we  have  called  Sir  Asinus,  may  show 
the  origin  of  some  allusions  in  our  chronicle.  These 
short  selections  are  arranged  of  course  to  suit  the  pur- 
pose of  the  narrative.  Beginning  with  the  "  rats,"  we 
very  appropriately  end  with  a  marriage — as  in  the 
case  of  that  gentleman  who  was  "  led  such  a  life "  by 
the  rats,  that  "  he  had  to  go  to  London  tq  get  himself  a 
wife." 

"  This  very  day,  to  others  the  day  of  greatest 

mirth  and  jollity,  sees  me  overwhelmed  with  more  and 
greater  misfortunes  than  have  befallen  a  descendant  of 
Adam  for  these  thousand  years  past,  I  am  sure.  I  am 
now  in  a  house  surrounded  with  enemies  who  take  coun- 
sel together  against  my  soul,  and  when  I  lay  me  down 
to  rest,  they  say  among  themselves,  Come,  let  us  destroy 
him.  I  am  sure  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  devil  in 
this  world,  he  must  have  been  here  last  night,  and  have 
had  some  hand  in  contriving  what  happened  to  me.  Do 
you  think  the  cursed  rats  (at  his  instigation,  I  suppose) 
did  not  eat  up  my  pocket-book,  which  was  in  my  pocket, 
within  a  foot  of  my  head?  And  not  contented  with 


244  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;   OR, 

plenty  for  the  present,  they  carried  away  my  jemmy- 
worked  silk  garters,  and  half  a  dozen  new  minuets  I  had 
just  got,  to  serve,  I  suppose,  as  provision  for  the  winter. 
But  of  this  I  should  not  have  accused  the  devil,  (because 
you  know  rats  will  be  rat-s,  and  hunger,  without  the  ad- 
dition of  his  instigations,  might  have  urged  them  to  do 
this,)  if  something  worse,  and  from  a  different  quarter, 
had  not  happened.  You  know  it  rained  last  night,  or  if 
you  do  not  know  it,  I  am  sure  I  do.  When  I  went  to 
bed  I  laid  my  watch  in  the  usual  place,  and  going  to 
take  her  up  after  I  arose  this  morning,  I  found  her  in  the 
same  place,  't  is  true,  but,  quantum  mutatm  oh  illo ! 
afloat  in  water,  let  in  at  a  leak  in  the  roof  of  the  house, 
and  as  silent  and  still  as  the  -rats  that  had  eat  my  pocket- 
book.  Now  you  know  if  chance  had  had  any  thing  to  do 
in  this  matter,  there  were  a  thousand  other  spots  where  it 
might  have  chanced  to  leak  as  well  as  this  one,  which 
was  perpendicularly  over  my  watch.  But  I  '11  tell  you, 
it 's  my  opinion  that  the  devil  came  and  bored  the  hole 
over  it  on  purpose.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  my  poor 
watch  had  lost  her  speech.  I  should  not  have  cared 
much  for  this,  but  something  worse  attended  it ;  the  sub- 
tle particles  of  the  water  with  which  the  case  was  filled, 
had  by  their  penetration  so  overcome  the  cohesion  of 
the  particles  of  paper,  of  which  my  dear  picture  and 
watch-paper  were  composed,  that  in  attempting  to  take 
them  out  to  dry  them,  my  cursed  fingers  gave  them  such 
a  rent  as  I  fear  I  never  shall  get  over !  Multis  fortune 
vuliieribus  percussus,  huic  uni  me  imparem  sensi,  et 
penitus  succubui.  I  would  have  cried  bitterly,  but  I 
thought  it  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  man,  and  a  man  too 
who  had  read  rui  O»T«»  T«  ^ v  t<p'  j(*.n  T»  <J«x  e<p'  >j><v.  I  do 


A   CIIEOJSriCLE   OF   COLLEGp:   SCRAPES.  245 

wish  the  devil  had  old  Coke,  for  I  am  sure  I  never  was 
so  tired  of  an  old  dull  scoundrel  in  my  life.  The 
old  fellows  say  we  must  read  to  gain  knowledge, 
and  gain  knowledge  to  make  us  happy  and  be  ad- 
mired. Mere  jargon  !  Is  there  any  such  thing  as  hap- 
piness in  this  world  ?  No.  And  as  for  admiration,  I 
am  sure  the  man  who  powders  most,  perfumes  most,v 
embroiders  most,  and  talks  most  nonsense,  is  most  ad- 
mired.'1' 

"  This  letter  will  be  conveyed  to  you  by  the 

assistance  of  our  friend  Warner  Lewis.  Poor  fellow ! 
never  did  I  see  one  more  sincerely  captivated  in  my 
life.  He  walked  to  the  Indian  Camp  with  her  yester- 
day, by  which  means  he  had  an  opportunity  of  giving 
her  two  or  three  love-squeezes  by  the  hand;  and  like  a 
true  Arcadian  swain,  has  been  so  enraptured  ever  since 
that  he  is  company  for  no  one." 

"  Last  night,  as  merry  as  agreeable  company 

and  dancing  with  Belinda  in  the  Apollo  could  make  me, 
I  never  could  have  thought  the  succeeding  sun  would 
have  seen  me  so  wretched  as  I  now  am !  Affairs  at 
VY.  and  M.  are  in  the  greatest  contusion.  Walker, 
McClury,  and  Wat  Jones  are  expelled  pro  tempore,  or 
as  Horrox  softens  it,  rusticated  for  a  month.  Lewis 
Burwell,  Warner  Lewis,  and  one  Thompson,  have  fled  to 
escape  flagellation." 

.....  "I  wish  I  had  followed  your  example  and 
wrote  in  Latin,  and  that  I  had  called  my  dear,  Campcma, 
in  die,  instead  of  «£v  <*«£." — ("  The  lady  here  alluded  to  is 


246  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON  ;    OK, 

manifestly  the  Miss  Rebecca  Burwell  mentioned  in  his 
first  letter;  but  what  suggested  the  quaint  designa- 
tion of  her  is  not  so  obvious.  In  the  first  of  them, 
Belinda,  translated  into  dog  Latin,  which  was  there  as 
elsewhere  one  of  the  facetiae  of  young  collegians,  be- 
came Campana  in  die,  that  is,  bell  ~in  day.  In  the 
second,  the  name  is  reversed,  and  becomes  Adnileb, 
which  for  further  security  is  written  in  Greek  charac- 
ters, and  the  lady  spoken  of  in  the  masculine  gender." 
—Note  of  Editor.} 

"When  you  see  Patsy  Dandridge,  tell  her, 

'  God  bless  her.'  I  do  not  like  the  ups  and  downs  of  a 
country  life  :  to-day  you  are  frolicking  with  a  fine  girl, 
and  to-morrow  you  are  moping  by  yourself.  Thank 
God  !  I  shall  shortly  be  where  my  happiness  will  be  less 
interrupted.  I  shall  salute  all  the  girls  below  in  your 

name,  particularly  S y  P r.     Dear  "Will,  I  have 

thought  of  the  cleverest  plan  of  life  that  can  be  im- 
agined. You  exchange  your  land  for  Edgehill,  or  I 

mine  for  Fairfields ;  you  marry  S y  P r,  I  marry 

R a  B 1,  join  and  get  a  pole  chair  and  a  pair  of 

keen  horses,  practise  the  law  in  the  same  courts,  and 
drive  about  to  atl  the  dances  in  the  country  together. 
How  do  you  like  it  ?  "Well,  I  am  sorry  you  are  at  such 
a  distance  I  cannot  hear  your  answer ;  however,  you 
must  let  me  know  it  by  the  first  opportunity,  and  all 
the  other  news  in  the  world  which  you  imagine  will 
affect  me." 

„  .  ,  .  .  "  "With  regard  to  the  scheme  which  I  proposed 
LO  you  some  time  since,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  it  is  totally 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   COLLEGE   SCRAPES.  247 

frustrated  by  Miss  R,.  B.'s  marriage  with  Jacquelin 
Ambler,  which  the  people  here  tell  me  they  daily  ex- 
pect. "Well,  the  Lord  bless  her!  I  say:  but  S y 

P r  is  still  left  for  you.  I  have  given  her  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  gentleman  who,  as  I  told  her,  intended  to 
make  her  an  offer  of  his  hand,  and  asked  whether  or  not 
he  might  expect  it  would  be  accepted.  She  would  not 
determine  till  she  saw  him  or  his  picture.  Now,  "Will, 
as  you  are  a  piece  of  a  limner,  I  desire  that  you  will  seat 
yourself  immediately  before  your  looking-glass  and  draw 
such  a  picture  of  yourself  as  you  think  proper ;  and  if 
it  should  be  defective,  blame  yourself.  (Mind  that  I 
mentioned  no  name  to  her.)  You  say  you  are  deter- 
mined to  be  married  as  soon  as  possible,  and  advise  me 
to  do  the  same.  No,  thank  ye  ;  I  will  consider  of  it 
first.  Many  and  great  are  the  comforts  of  a  single  state, 
and  neither  of  the  reasons  you  urge  can  have  any  in- 
fluence with  an  inhabitant,  and  a  young  inhabitant  too, 
of  Williamsburg.  Who  told  you  that  I  reported  you 
was  courting  Miss  Dandridge  and  Miss  Dangerfield  ?  It 
might  be  worth  your  while  to  ask  whether  they  were  in 
earnest  or  not.  So  far  was  I  from  it,  that  I  frequently 

bantered  Miss  J y  T o  about  you,  and  told  her 

how  feelingly  you  spoke  of  her.  There  is  scarcely  any 
thing  now  going  on  here.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose, 
that  J.  Page  is  courting  Fanny  Burwell.  W.  Bland  and 
Betsy  Yates  are  to  be  married  Thursday  se'nnight.  The 
Secretary's  son  is  expected  in  shortly.  Willis  has  left 
town  entirely,  so  that  your  commands  to  him  cannot  be 
executed  immediately ;  but  those  to  the  ladies  I  shall  do 
myself  the  pleasure  of  delivering  to-morrow  night  at  the 
ball.  Tom  Randolph  of  Tuckahoe  has  a  suit  of  Meek- 


248  THE   YOUTH   OF  JEFFERSON;   OE, 

lenburg  silk  which  he  offered  me  for  a  suit  of  broad- 
cloth." 

"I  have  not  a  syllable  to  write  to  you  about. 

Would  you  that  I  should  write  nothing  but  truth  ?  I 
tell  you  I  know  nothing  that  is  true.  Or  would  you 
rather  that  I  should  write  you  a  pack  of  lies  ?  "Why, 
unless  they  were  more  ingenious  than  I  am  able  to  in- 
vent, they  would  furnish  you  with  little  amusement. 
What  can  I  do  then  ?  Nothing,  but  ask  you  the  news 
in  your  world.  How  have  you  done  since  I  saw  you  ? 
How  did  Nancy  look  at  you  when  you  danced  with  her 
at  Southall's?  Have  you  any  glimmering  of  hope? 
How  does  K.  B.  do  ?  Had  I  better  stay  here  and  do 
nothing,  or  go  down  and  do  less  ?  or  in  other  words,  had 
I  better  stay  here  while  I  am  here,  or  go  down  that  I 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  sailing  up  the  river  again  in 
a  full-rigged  flat  ?  You  must  know  that  as  soon  as  the 
Rebecca  (the  name  I  intend  to  give  the  vessel  above  men- 
tioned) is  completely  finished,  I  intend  to  hoist  sail  and 
away.  I  shall  visit  particularly,  England,  Holland, 
France,  Spain,  Italy,  (where  I  would  buy  me  a  good 
fiddle,)  and  Egypt,  and  return  through  the  British  prov- 
inces to  the  northward,  home.  This,  to  be  sure,  would 
take  us  two  or  three  years,  and  if  we  should  not  both  be 
cured  of  love  in  that  time,  I  think  the  devil  would  be 
in  it.  T.  JEFFEKSOX." 

Many  of  these  letters  are  written  from  "  Devilsburg," 
which  was  the  college  name  for  the  metropolitan  city  in 
the  days  of  yore.  The  reader  is  referred  to  the  first 
volume  of  Mr.  Tucker's  Life  of  Jefferson. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   COLLEGE    SCRAPES.  249 

We  shall  make  but  one  addition  to  our  chronicle  of 
those  former  personages  and  their  boyish  pranks,  and 
that  shall  be  a  quotation : 

"  On  the  1st  ^of  January,  1772,  I  was  married  to 
Martha  Skelton,  widow  of  Bathurst  Skelton,  and  daugh- 
ter of  John  "VVayles,  then  twenty-three  years  old." 

See  his  memoir  of  himself. 


FINIS. 


J.  S.  REDFIELD, 

110  AND  112  NASSAU  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 

HAS  JT/ST  PUBLISHED: 


EPISODES  OF  INSECT  LIFE. 

By  ACHETA  DOMESTICA.  In  Three  Series :  I.  Insects  of  Spring.— 
II.  Insects  of  Summer. —  III.  Insects  of  Autumn.  Beautifully 
illustrated.  Crown  8vo.,  cloth,  gilt,  price  $2.00  each.  The  same 
beautifully  colored  after  nature,  extra  gilt,  $4.00  each. 

"  A  book  elegant  enough  for  the  centre  table,  witty  enough  for  after  dinner,  and  wise 
enough  for  the  study  and  the  school-room.  One  of  the  beautiful  lessons  of  this  work  is 
the  kindly  view  it  takes  of  nature.  Nothing  is  made  in  vain  not  only,  but  nothing  ii 
made  ugly  or  repulsive.  A  charm  is  thrown  around  every  object,  and  life  suffused 
through  all.  suggestive  of  the  Creator's  goodness  and  wisdom." — .TV.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  Moths,  glow-worms,  lady-birda,  May-flies,  bees,  and  a  variety  of  other  inhabitant*  of 
Vhe  insect  world,  are  descanted  upon  in  a  pleasing  style,  combining  scientific  information 
with  romance,  in  a  manner  peculiarly  attractive." — Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  The  book  includes  solid  instruction  as  well  as  genial  and  captivating  mirth.  Th« 
scientific  knowledge  of  the  writer  is  thoroughly  reliable." — Examiner 


MEN  AND  WOMEN  OF  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 
By  ARSENE  HOUSSATE,  with  beautifully  Engraved   Portraits  of 
Louis  XV.,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour.     Two  volume  12mo. 
450  pages  each,  extra  superfine  paper,  price  $2.50. 

CONTENTS. — Du'-esny,  Fontenelle,  Marivaux,  Piron,  The  Abbe  Prevost,  Gentil-Bernard, 
Florian,  Boufflers,  DUerot,  Gretry,  Riverol,  Louis  XV.,  Greuze,  Boucher,  The  Van- 
loos,  Lantara,  Watteau,  La  Motte,  Dehle,  Abbe"  Trublet,  Buffon,  Dorat,  Cardinal  de 
Bernis,  Crgbillon  the  Gay,  Marie  Antoinette,  Made,  de  Pompadour,  Vad6,  Mile.  Ca- 
margo,  Mile.  Clairon,  Mad.  de  la  Popeliniere,  Sophie  Arnould,  Crgbillon  the  Tragic, 
Mile.  Guimard,  Three  Pages  in  the  Life  of  Dancourt,  A  Promenade  in  the  Palais-Royal, 
the  Chevalier  de  la  Clos. 
"  A  more  fascinating  book  than  this  rarely  issues  from  the  teeming  press.  Fascina- 

«lng  in  its  subject ;  fascinating  in  its  style :  fascinating  in  its  power  to  lead  the  reader  into 

eastle-building  of  the  most  gorgeous  Hnd  bewitchVx  description." — Courier  ty  Enquirer, 
"This  is  a  most  welcome  book,  full  of  iniomWon  and  amusement,  in  the  form  of 

memoirs,  comments,  and  anecdotes.     It  has  the  style  of  light  literature,  with  the1  u»a- 

(illness  if  the  gravest     It  should  be  in  every  library,  and  the  hands  of  every  reader." 

Barton  Commonwealth. 
"  A  BOOK  OF  BOOKS. — Two  deliciously  spicy  volumes,  that  are  a  perfect  bonne  brtitfu 

tor  an  epic-iav  ii)  reading.'1— Worn*  Journal. 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 

MAURICE'S  THEOLOGICAL  ESSAYS. 
Theological  Essays.      By  FREDERICK  DENISON  MAURICE,  M.A., 
Chaplain  of  Lincoln's  Inn.     From  the  second  London  Edition, 
with  a  new  Preface  and  other  additions.  '  One  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ; 
price  $1.00. 

"  These  essays  are  well  worthy  the  attention  of  every  thoughtful  reader,  and  espe- 
cially of  every  Christian  minister.  He  speaks  with  the  earnestness  of  a  vital  experi. 
ence,  and  with  the  kindly  love  of  a  human  sensibility.  It  is  refreshing  to  read  one  who 
thus  draws  from  a  living  experience  rather  than  from  the  dry  wells  of  an  abstract  and 
formal  theology." — Chicago  Congregational  Herald. 

"  They  manUest  a  remarkable  degree  of  logical  ability,  a  thorough  acquaintance  with 
the  Bible,  and  a  full  reliance  upon  the  revelations  of  that  book  for  every  human  emer- 
gency. It  is  well  worth  a  devoted  study." — Louisville  Journal. 

"Mr.  Maurice  is  unquestionably  a  man  of  learning  and  ability,  wielding  a  powerful 
pen,  and  able  to  invest  dry,  and  to  many  minds  distasteful  themes,  with  unusual  interest." 
—  Worcester  National  JEgis. 

"  These  are  the  famous  series  of  discourses,  in  consequence  of  publishing  which,  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Maurice  was  expelled  from  a  professorship  in  King's  College,  London." — Com- 
mercial Advertiser. 

"  Evidently  the  production  of  a  mind  of  considerable  vigor."— 2V.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  The  Essays  give  decided  indication  of  reflection,  power,  and  earnestness  of  spirit." — 
Hartford  Christian  Secretary. 

"A  noble-spirited  and  really  honest  man,  full  of  tenderness  and  truthfulness."— 
The  (Feio  York)  Churchman. 


THE  CATACOMBS  OF  ROME, 

&.s  Illustrating  the  Church  of  the  First  Three  Centuries.  By  the 
Right  Rev.  W.  INGRAHAM  KIP,  D.D.,  Missionary  Bishop  of 
California.  Author  of  "Christmas  Holidays  in  Rome,"  "Early 
Conflicts  of  Christianity,"  &c.,  &c.  With  over  One  Hundred 
Illustrations.  12mo,  cloth ;  price  75  cents. 

"  The  evidence  furnished  by  the  Catacombs  of  the  departure  of  the  Romish  Church 
"rom  Primitive  Christianity  is  complete  and  overwhelming.  The  work  is  exceedingly 
raluable." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  a  valuable  aid  in  the  contest  between  primitive  truth  and  modern  innovations  and 
is  such  the  author  commends  it  to  his  brethren  in  the  Church." — Rochester  American. 

"  We  commend  this  book  as  one  of  the  most  fascinating  and  useful  of  volumes ;  full 
of  information,  imparted  in  a  style  which  beguiles  the  reader,  and  makes  his  perusal 
of  the  book  seem  like  a  pleasant  dream."— Zion's  Herald. 

"  Few  books,  lately  published,  will  better  repay  the  reader  than  this,  which  unites  so 
happily  the  deepest  interest  with  the  soundest  instruction."— Banner  of  the  Orost. 


B ALLOWS  REVIEW  OF  BEE  CHER. 
The  Divine  Character  Vindicated.     A  Review  of  the  "  Conflict 

of  Ages."     By  Rev.  MOSES  BALLOU.     In  one  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ; 

price  $1.00. 

"  His  demolition  of  Beecher's  '  Conflict  of  Ages'— especially  the  fantastic  and  absurd 
conceit  which  forms  the  ground  plan  of  that  work — is  most  triumphant  and  complete. 
—{Charleston)  Evening  News. 

"The  best  featun;  of  the  work  that  we  discover  is  its  regard  to  decency,  and  its 
general  freedom  from  a  vituperative  spirit." — Puritan  Recorder. 

"  Mr.  Ballou  writes  clearly  and  in  good  temper,  and  presses  his  opponent  with  many 
very  perplexing;  considerations. — ^V.  Y.  Evangelist. 

"  It  is  the  fullest,  clearest,  most  thorough  review  of  Dr.  Beecher's  work  which  has 
vet  appeared."— The  Trumpet. 


REDFIKLDS    NEW    AND    POPULAR    PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  BLACK  WATER  CHRONICLE; 

A  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  into  the   Land   of  Canaan,  in  Ran- 
dolph  County,  Virginia,  a  Country  flowing  with  Wild  Animals, 
such  as  Panthers,  Bears,  Wolves,  Elk,  Deer,  Otter,  Badger,  &c., 
&c.,  with  innumerable  Trout,  by  Five  Adventurous  Gentlemen, 
without  any  Aid  of  Government,  and  solely  by  their  Own  Re- 
sources, in  the  Summer  of  1851.     By  "  THK  CLERKE  OF  OXEN- 
FORCE."     With  Illustrations  from  Life,  by  Strother. 
"Tins  is  a  handsomely-printed  and  beautifully-illustrated  volume.    Those  who  hare 
a  taste  for  field  eports  will  be  delighted  with  this  cleverly-written  narrative  of  the 
achievements  nnd  experiences  of  a  hunting  party  in  the  hunting-grounds  of  the  Old 
Dominion."— Savannah  Daily  News. 

"A  queer,  quaint,  amusingly-written  book,  brimful  of  drollery  and  dare-devil  humor. 
The  work  overflows  with  amusement,  and  has  a  vignette-title  and  other  beautiful  illus 
trations,  by  Strother." — Yankee  Blade. 

"  A  pleasant  book  of  American  character  and  adventure,  of  interest  geographically, 
sportively,  mid  poetically.  The  authorship  is  of  a  good  intellectual  race  ;  the  "  Clerko 
of  Oxenfcirde,"  who  figures  in  the  title-paste,  being  own  brother  to  the  author  of  ••  Swal- 
low Barn,"  which,  a.--  everybody  knows,  is  the  "  Sketch-Book"  of  that  land  of  gentlemen 
and  humorists."— Literary  World. 


MINNESOTA  AND  ITS  RESOURCES; 

To  which  are  Appended  Camp-Fire  Sketches,  or  Notes  of  a  Trip 
from  St.  Paul  to  Pembina  and  Selkirk  Settlements  on  the  Red 
River  of  the  North.  By  J.  WESLEY  BOND.  With  a  Now 
Map  of  the  Territory,  a  View  of  St.  Paul,  and  One  of  the  Falls 
of  St.  Anthony.  '  In'One  Volume,  12mo.  Cloth.  $1  00. 

'•  To  the  immigrant  to  the  .northwest,  mid  to  the  tourist  in  search  of  pleasure  it  is  wor- 
thy of  beinsr  commended  for  the  valuable  and  interesting  knowledge  it  contains."—  CM 
cago  Daily  Tribune. 

"  The  work  will  surprise  many,  as  it.opens  to  us  a  new  lanrl,  shows  its  vast  resources, 
and  treats  its  history  with  all  the  accuracy  thiit  could  be  acquired  by  diligent  research 
and  careful  observation,  during  a  three  years'  residence."—  Boston  Gazette. 

'•It  contains  notices  of  the  early  history  of  the  country,  of  its  geographical  features,  its 
agricultural  advantaaes,  its  manufactures,  commerce,  facilities  for  travelling,  the  charac- 
ter of  its  inhabitants—  everything,  indeed,  to  illustrate  its  resources  and  its  prospects/1 

"  We  have  seen  lio  work  respecting  the  northwest  of  equal  value  to  this."—  Christian 
Intelligencer. 


THE   YEMASSEE. 

A  Romance  of  South  Carolina.  By  WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS 
Author  of  "The  Partisan,"  "Guy  Rivers,"  &c.,  &c.  New 
and  Revised  Edition.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley.  12mo 
Cloth.  $1  25. 

"  A  Dicture  of  the  early  border  life  of  the  Huguenot  settlers  in  South  Carolina.  Liko 
Scott's  novels,  it  is  a  mixture  of  bistory  and  romance.  "-Hartford  Christian  Se^tnry. 

"  It  is  written  in  an  uncommonly  glowing  style,  and  hits  ott  the  Indian  character  with 
uncommon  grai-e  and  powei  "  —  Albany  Argus. 

"The  whole  work  is  truly  American,  much  of  the  material  being  of  that  character 
Which  can  be  iurni.-bed  by  no  other  country."—  Daily  Tunes. 

"The  delineations  of  the  red  men  of  the  south  are  admirably  sketched  while  the  hw 
torical  events  upon  which  the  work  is  founded  are  vouched  for  by  the  author  as  strictly 
true."—  Ntw  Bedford  Mercury 


REDFIELD  S    NEW    AND    POPULAR    PUBLICATIONS. 


SKETCHES  OF  THE  IRISH  BAR. 

By  the  Right  Hon.  RICHARD  LALOR  SHEIL,  M.  P.  Edited  with 
a  Memoir  and  Notes,  by  Dr.  SHELTON  MACKENZIE.  Fourth 
Edition.  In  2  vols.  Price  $2  00. 

"  They  attracted  universal  attention  by  their  brilliant  nnd  pointed  style,  and  their  lib 
erality  of  sentiment.  The  Notes  embody  a  great  amount  of  biographical  information, 
terary  gossip,  legal  and  political  anecdote,  and  amusing  reminiscences,  and,  in  fact, 
omit  nothing  that  is  essential  to  the  perfect  elucidation  of  the  text"—  New  York  Tribune. 

"  They  are  the  best  edited  books  we  have  met  for  many  a  year.  They  form,  with 
Mackenzie's  notes,  a  complete  biographical  dictionary,  containing  succinct  and  clever 
sketches  of  all  the  famous  people  of  England,  and  particularly  of  Ireland,  to  whom  the 
slightest  allusions  are  made  in  the  text." — The  Citizen  (John  Mitchel). 

"  Dr.  Mackenzie  deserves  the  thanks  of  men  of  letters,  particularly  of  Irishmen,  for 
his  research  and  care.  Altogether,  the  work  is  one  we  can  recommend  in  the  highest 
terms."— Philadelphia  City  Item. 

"Such  a  repertory  of  wit,  humor,  anecdote,  and  out-gushing  fun,  mingled  with  the 
deepest  pathos,  when  we  reflect  upon  the  sad  fate  of  Ireland,  as  this  book  affords,  it  were 
hard  to  find  written  in  any  other  pair  of  covers." — Buffalo  Daily  Courier. 

"As  a  whole,  a  more  sparkling  lively  series  of  portraits  was  hardly  ever  set  in  a  single 
gallery  It  is  Irish  all  over ;  the  wit,  the  folly,  the  extravagance,  and  the  fire  are  al 
alike  characteristic  of  writer  and  subjects." — New  York  Evangelist. 

"  These  volumes  afford  a  rich  treat  to  the  lovers  of  literature." — Hartford  Christian  Set. 


CLASSIC  AND  HISTORIC  PORTRAITS. 
By  JAMES  BRUCE.     12mo,  cloth,  $1  00. 

"  A  series  of  personal  sketches  of  distinguished  individuals  of  all  ages,  embracing  pen 
and  ink  portraits  of  near  sixty  persons  from  Sappho  down  to  Madame  de  Stael.  They 
show  much  research,  and  possess  that  interest  whicli  attaches  to  the  private  life  of  those 
whose  names  are  known  to  fame." — New  Haven  Journal  and  Courier. 

"They  are  comprehensive,  well-written,  and  judicious,  both  in  the  selection  of  sub- 
jects and  the  manner  of  treating  them." — Boston  Atlas. 

"The  author  has  painted  in  minute  touches  the  characteristics  of  each  with  various 
personal  details,  all  interesting,  and  nil  calculated  to  furnish  to  the  mind's  eye  a  complete 
portraiture  of  the  individual  described." — Albany  Knickerbocker.  • 

"  The  sketches  are  full  and  graphic,  many  authorities  having  evidently  been  consulted 
by  the  author  in  their  preparation." — Boston  Journal. 


THE  WORKINGMAN'S  WAY  IN  THE  WORLD. 

Being  the  Autobiography  of  a  Journeyman  Printer.  By  CHARLES 
MANBY  SMITH,  author  of  "  Curiosities  of  London  Life."  12mo, 
cloth,  $1  00. 

"  Written  by  a  man  of  genius  and  of  most  extraordinary  powers  of  description." — 
Boston  Traveller. 

"  It  will  be  read  with  no  small  degree  of  interest  by  the  professional  brethren  of  the 
authoi,  as  well  as  by  all  who  find  attractions  in  a  well-told  bile  of  a  workingman." — 
Boston  Atlas. 

"An  amusing  as  well  as  instructive  book,  telling  how  humble  obscurity  cuts  its  way 
through  the  world  with  energy,  perseverance,  and  integrity.71— Albany  Knickerbocker. 

"The  book  is  the  most  entertaining  we  have  met  with  for  months."— Philadelphia 
Evening  Bulletin. 

•'  He  has  evidently  moved  through  the  world  with  his  eyes  op^n  and  having  a  vein 
of  humor  in  his  nature,  has  written  one  of  the  most  readable  oooKs  ot  the  eeason  "— 
Zioris  Herald. 


REDFIELD  S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 

MOORE'S  LIFE  OF  SHERIDAN. 

(Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  the  Rt.  Hon.  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan, 
by  THOMAS  MOORE,  with  Portrait  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
Two  vols.,  12mo,  cloth,  $2.00. 

"  One  of  the  most  brilliant  biographies  in -English  literature.  It  is  the  life  of  a  wit 
written  by  a  wit,  and  i'ew  of  Tom  Moore's  most  sparkling  poems  are  more  brilliant  and 
rascinating  than  this  biography."— Boston  Transcript. 

"  This  is  at  once  a  most  valuable  biography  of  the  mosf  celebrated  wit  of  the  time*, 
id  one  of  the  most  entertaining  works  of  its  gifted  author." — Springfield  Republican. 

"  The  l.ife  of  Sheridan,  the  wit,  contains  as  much  food  for  serious  thought  as  the 
beet  sermon  that  was  ever  penned." — Arthur's  Home  Gazette. 

"  The  sketch  of  such  a  character  and  career  as  Sheridan's  by  sue  tend  as  Moore'*, 
can  never  cense  to  be  attractive." — N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

"The  work  is  instructive  and  full  of  interest." — Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  It  is  a  gem  of  biography ;  full  of  incident,  elegantly  written,  warmly  appreciative, 
»nd  on  the  whole  candid  and  just.  Sheridan  was  a  rare  and  wonderful  genius,  and  ha* 
in  this  work  justice  done  to  his  surpassing  merits."— ^V.  Y.  Evangelist. 


BARRINGTON'S  SKETCHES. 

Personal  Sketches  of  his  own  Time,  by  SIR  JONAH  BARRI^STOIC, 
Judge  if  the  High  Court  of  Admiralty  in  Ireland,  with  Illustra- 
tions by  Darley.  Third  Edition,  12mo,  cloth,  $1  25. 

"  A  more  entertaining  book  than  this '-  not  often  thrown  in  our  way.  His  sketches 
of  character  are  inimitable  ;  and  many  of  the  prominent  men  of  bis  time  are  hit  off  hi 
the  most  striking  and  graceful  outline." — Albany  Argus. 

"He  was  a  very  shrewd  observer  and  eccentric  writer,  and  his  narrative  of  his  owo 
life,  and  sketches  of  society  in  Ireland  during  his  times,  are  exceedingly  humorous  and 
interesting."— AT.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  It  is  one  of  those  works  which  are  conceived  and  written  in  so  hearty  a  view,  and 
brings  before  the  reader  so  many  palpable  and  amusing  characters,  that  the  entertain 
ment  and  information  are  equally  balanced."-  Boston  Transcript. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining  books  of  the  season." — N.  Y.  Recorder. 

"  It  portrays  in  life-like  colors  the  characters  and  daily  habits  of  nearly  all  the  Eng 
lish  and  Irish  celebrities  of  that  period."— ^V.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


JOMINrS  CAMPAIGN  OF  WATERLOO. 
The  Political  and   Military  History  of  the  Campaign  of  Waterloo 
from  the  French  of  Gen.  Baron  Jomini,  by  Lieut.  S   V.  BENET 
U.  S.  Ordnance,  with  a  Map,  12mo,  cloth,  75  cents. 

"  Of  great  value,  Doth  for  its  historical  merit  and  its  acknowledged  impartiality."— 
Christian  Freeman,  Boston. 

"  It  lias  long  been  regarded  in  Europe  as  a  work  of  more  than  ordinary  merit,  while 
to  military  men  his  review  of  the  tactics  and  manoeuvres  of  the  French  Emperor  dur- 
ing the  few  days  which  preceded  his  final  and  most  disastrous  defeat,  is  considered  a* 
Instructive,  ns'it  is  interesting.''—  Arthur's  Home  Gazette. 

"  It  is  a  star.dard  authority  and  illustrates  a  subject  of  permanent  interest.  Wife 
military  students,  and  historical  inquirers,  it  will  be  a  favorite  reference,  and  for  the 
general  reader  it  possesses  great  value  and  interest." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  throws  much  light  on  often  mooted  points  respecting  Napoleon's  military  and 
political  genius.  The  translation  is  one  of  much  vigor."— Boston  Commonwealth. 

"It  supplies  an  important  chapter  in  the  most  interesting  and  eventful  period  of  N» 
poleon's  military  career." — Savannah  Daily  News. 

«  ft  is  ably  written  and  skilfully  translated."—  Yantue  Blade. 


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NOTES  AND  EMENDATIONS  OF  SlIAKKSPKARK. 
-Notes  and    Emendations   to  the  Text  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  from 

the  Early  Manuscript  Corrections  in  a  copy  of  the  folio  of  ]<332. 

in  the  possession  of  JOHN  PAYNE  COLLIER,  Esq.,  F.S.A.     Third 

edition,  with  a  fac-simile  of  the  Manuscript  Corrections.     1  vol 

12mo,  cloth,  $1  50. 

'  It  is  not  for  a  moment  to  be  doubted,  we  think,  that  in  this  volume  a  contribution 
baa  been  made  to  the  clearness  and  accuracy  of  Shakespeare's  text,  by  far  the  most  im 
portant  of  any  offered  or  attempted  since  Shakespeare  lived  and  wrote." — Land.  Exam 

"  The  corrections  which  Mr.  Collier  has  here  given  to  the  world  are,  we  venture  to 
think,  of  more  value  than  the  labors  of  nearly  all  the  critics  on  Shakespeare's  text  pul 
together." — London  Literary  Gazette, 

•'  It  is  a  rare  gem  in  the  history  of  literature,  and  can  not  fail  to  command  the  atten- 
tion of  all  the  amateurs  of  the  writing*  of  the  immortal  dramatic  poet."—  Ch'ston  Com 


'  It  is  a  book  absolutely  indispensable  to  every  admirer  of  Shakespeare  who  wishet 

read  him  understandingly."  —  Louisville  Courier. 

"  It  is  clear  from  internal  evidence,  that  for  the  most  part  they  are  genuine  restora- 


tions of  the  original  plays.     They  carry  conviction  with  them."—  Home  Journal. 

"This   volume  is  an  almost  indispensable  companion  to  any  of  the  editions  of 
Shakespeare,  so  numerous  and  often  important  are  many  of  the  corrections."—  Register 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  CRUSADES. 
By  JOSEPH  FaANpois  MICHAUD.     Translated  by  W.  Robson,  3  vols. 
12mo.,  maps,  S3  75. 

"  It  is  comprehensive  and  accurate  in  the  detail  of  facts,  methodical  and  lucid  in  ar- 
rangement, with  a  lively  and  flowing  narrative." — Journal  of  Commerce. 

"  We  need  not  say  that  the  work  of  Michaud  has  superseded  all  other  histories 
of  the  Crusades.  This  history  has  long  been  the  standard  work  with  all  who  could 
read  it  in  its  original  language.  Another  work  on  the  same  subject  is  as  improbable 
as  a  new  history  of  the  '  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire.'  " — Salem  Freeman. 

"  The  most  faithful  and  masterly  history  ever  written  of  the  wild  wars  for  the  Holy 
Land."— Philadelphia  American  Courier. 

"The  ability,  diligence,  and  faithfulness,  with  which  Michaud  has  executed  his 
ereat  task,  are  undisputed  ;  and  it  is  to  his  well-filled  volumes  that  the  historical  stu- 
dent must  now  resort  for  copious  and  authentic  facts,  and  luminous  views  respecting 
this  most  romantic  and  wonderful  period  in  the  annals  of  the  Old  World." — Boston 
Daily  Courier. 


MARMADUKE  WYVIL. 

An  Historical  Romance  of  1651,  by  HENRT  W.  HERBERT,  author 
of  the  "  Cavaliers  of  England,"  &cc«,  &.c.  Fourteenth  Edition. 
Revised  and  Corrected. 

«  This  is  one  of  the  best  works  of  the  kind  we  hare  ever  read— full  of  thrilling  inci- 
(tents  and  adventures  in  the  stirring  times  of  Cromwell,  and  in  that  style  which  ha» 
made  the  works  of  Mr.  Herbert  so  popular." — Christian  Freeman,  Boston. 

"The  work  is  distinguished  by  the  same  historical  knowledge,  thrilling  incident,  and 
pictoriitl  beauty  of  style,  which  havt  characterized  all  Mr.  Herbert's  fictions  and  imparted 
to  them  such  a  bewitching  interest." — Yankee  Blade. 

"  The  author  out  of  a  simple  plot  and  very  few  characters,  has  constructed  a  novej 
of  deep  interest  and  of  considerable  historical  value.  It  will  be  found  well  worth 
reading  "-National  &gig,  Worcester. 


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LIFE  IN  THE  MISSION. 

Life  in  the  Mission,  the  Camp,  and  the  Zenana.     By  Mrs.  CoLin 
MACKKNZIE.     2  vols.,  12mo.     Cloth.     $2  00. 

"  It  is  enlivened  with  countless  pleasant  anecdotes,  and  altogether  is  one  of  the  most 
entertaining  and  valuable  works  of  the  kind  that  we  have  met  with  for  mnny  a  day." 
Boston  Traveller. 

1  A  more  charming  production  hns  not  issued  from  the  press  for  years,  than  this  jour- 
nal of  Mrs.  Mackenzie."— Arthur's  Home  Gazelle. 

"  She  also  gives  us  a  clearer  insight  into  the  manners,  position,  climate,  and  way  of 
life  in  general,  in  that  distant  land,  than  we  have  been  able  to  obtain  from  any  other 
work."— Cftrirtfan  Herald. 

"  Her  observations  illustrative  of  the  relisions  state  of  things,  and  of  the  progress  of 
Missions  in  the  East,  will  be  found  specially  valuable.  It  is  on  the  whole  a  fascinating 
work,  and  withal  is  fitted  to  do  good." — Puritan  Recorder. 

"She  was  familiarly  acquainted  with  some  of  the  excellent  laborers  sent  out  by  the 
Presbyterian  Board  of  Foreign  Missions,  of  whom  she  speaks  in  the  most  favorable 
terms.  The  work  is  instructive  and  veiy  readable."— Presbyterian. 


**. 


WESTERN  CHARACTERS. 

Western  Characters  ;  being  Types  of  Border  Life  in  the  Western 
States.  By  J.  L.  M'CoNNKL.  Author  of '-Talbot  and  Vernon," 
"The  Glenns,"  &c.,  &c.  With  Six  Illustrations  by  Darley. 
12mo.  Cloth.  $1  25. 

"  Ten  different  classes  are  sketched  in  this  admirable  book,  and  written  by  the  hand 
if  a  master.  The  author  is  an  expert  limner,  and  makes  his  portraits  striking." — Buf- 
falo  Express. 

"  Never  has  Darley's  pencil  been  more  effectively  used.     The  writer  and  sketcher 

"  When  we  say  that  the  book  before  us  is  calm  in  style  as  it  is  forcible  in  matter,  we 
nave  indicated  a  sufficiency  of  good  qualities  to  secure  the  attention  of  the  reader,  who 
would  extend  his  sympathies  and  secure  himself  a  duo  degree  of  amusement,  without 
— what  is  not  uncommon  in  books  with  similar  titles — a  shock  to  his  taste,  or  insult  to 
his  judgment.  There  is  nothing  equal  to  them  in  the  book  illustrations  of  the  day.  A 
special  paragraph  should  be  given  to  the  illustrations  by  Darley." — Literary  World 


A  THANKSGIVING  STORY. 

Chanticleer:  A  Story  of  the  Peabody  Family.  By  CORNKLIUS 
MATHKWS.  With  Illustrations  by  Darley,  Walcutt,  and  Dallas. 
12mo.  75  cents. 

1  Its  success  is  already  a  fixed  fact  in  our  literature.  'Chanticleer'  is  one  of  those 
simple  and  interi-sting  tales  which,  like  the  •  Vicar  of  Wakefield'  and  Zchokke's  '  Poor 
Pastor,'  win  their  way  to  the  reader's  heart  and  dwell  there.  It  is  full  of  sunshine:  a 
hearty  and  a  genial  book."—  New  York  Daily  Times. 

"  •  Chanticleer'  is  scarcely  inferior  !n  a  literary  point  of  view  to  any  of  the  Christmas 
stories  of  Charles  Dickens,  and  is  more  interesting  to  Americans  because  of  its  allusions 
to  the  peculiar  customs  of  this  country." — N.  Y.  Com.  Advertiser. 

" '  Chanticleer'  has  won  the  public  heart,  both  by  the  felicity  of  its  subject,  and  thfc 
grace,  wit,  and  goodness,  displayed  in  its  execution." — Southern  Literary  Gazette. 

"  It  possesses  literary  merit  of  the  highest  order,  and  will  live  in  the  affections  of  all 
readers  of  good  taste  and  good  morals,  not  only  while  Thanksgiving  dinners  are  renum- 
bered, but  while  genius  is  appreciated."— Morning  Nevs,  Savannah. 


REDFIKLD'S  NKW  AND  POPULAR   PUBLICATIONS. 


LORENZO  BENONI; 

Or,  Passages  in  the  Life  of  an  Italian.     Edited  by  a  Friend.     One 
Tol.,  12mo;  price  $1.00. 

"The  author  of  the  volume  is  Giovanni  Ruffini,  a  native  of  Genoa.  Being  implicated 
in  the  attempt  at  revolution  in  1K33,  h«  was  compelled  to  seek  satety  in  flight,  and  has 
since  that  period  resided  in  England  und  France.  Under  fictitious  names  he  gives  an 
authentic  history  of  real  characters  and  true  incidents.  It  is  a  graphic  picture  (/('Italian 
Hie  and  habits ;  and  a  true,  though  mournful  exhibition  of  the  baneful  effects  of  des- 
potic rule,  and  priestly  control  in  education."— Norfolk  (Fa.)  Herald. 

"  From  tin;  first  pa?-  to  the  last,  it  absorbs  the  reader's  faculties  with  the  intensity  of 
its  interest,  and  leaves  him  little  consciousness  outside  the  circle  in  which  its  characters 
have  their  being.  Yet  over  the  whole  work  there  broods  such  a  terrible  shadow  of 
despotism  and  the  sunS'ring  it  has  caused,  that  its  fascination  is  of  a  strange  and  painful 
kin.i."-^Ynr  York  Daily  Times. 

'•  This  is  one  ol  the  book-  occasionally  met  with,  having  a  species  of  Tarantella  power, 
charming  the  reader,  and  admitting  "I  no  cessation  in  its  perusal,  until  the  volume  is  en- 
tirely completed,  leaving  him  even  then  like  little  Oliver,  'asking  fur  more.'  " — Ev.  Post. 


GRISCOM  ON  VENTILATION. 

The  Uses  and  Abuses  of  Air:  showing  its  Influence  in  Sustaining 
Life,  and  Producing  Disease,  with  Remarks  on  the  Ventilation 
of  Houses,  and  the  best  Methods  of  Securing  a  Pure  and  Whole- 
some Atmosphere  inside  of  Dwellings,  Churches,  Workshops,  &c 
By  JOHN  H.  GRISCOM,  M.D.  One  vol.  12mo,  $1.00. 

"This  comprehensive  treatise  should  be  read  by  all  who  wish  to  secure  health, 
and  especially  by  those  constructing  churches,  lecture-rooms,  school-houses,  <fec.— It 
is  undoubted,  that  many  diseases  are  created  and  spread  in  consequence  of  the  little 
attention  paid  to  proper  ventilation.  Dr.  G.  writes  knowingly  and  plainly  upon  this  all- 
Important  topic." — Newark  Advertiser. 

"The  whole  book  is  a  complete  manual  ol  the  subject  of  which  it  treats ;  and  we 
venture  to  say  that  the  builder  or  contriver  of  a  dwelling,  school-house,  church,  thea- 
tre, ship,  or  steamboat,  who  neglects  to  inform  himsell  of  the  momentous  truths  it 
asserts,  commits  virtually  a  crime  against  society." — N.  Y.  Metropolis. 

"  When  shall  we  learn  to  estimate  at  their  proper  value,  pure  water  and  pure  air, 
which  God  provided  for  man  before  he  made  man,  and  a  very  long  time  before  he 
permitted  the  existence  of  a  doctor  ?  We  commend  the  Uses  and  Abuses  of  Air  to  ouy 
readers,  assuring  them  that  they  will  find  it  to  contain  directions  for  the  ventilation  of 
dwellings,  which  every  one  who  values  health  and  comfort  should  put  in  practice." — 
IT.  Y  Dispatch. 


HAGAR,  A  STORY  OF  TO-DAY. 

By  ALICE  CARET,  author  of  "  Clovernook,"  "  Lyra,  and  Other 
Poems,"  &c.     One  vol.,  12mo,  price  $1.00. 

"A  story  of  rural  and  domestic  life,  abounding  in  humor,  pathos,  and  that  natural- 
ness in  character  and  conduct  which  made  '  Clovernook'  so  great  a  favorite  last  season. 
Passages  in  'Hagar'  are  written  with  extraordinary  power,  its  moral  is  striking  and 
just,  and  the  book  will  inevitably  he  one  of  the  most  popular  productions  of  the  sea- 
ion." 

"  She  has  a  fine,  rich,  and  purely  original  genius.  Her  country  stories  are  almost 
unequaled." — Knickerbocker  Magazine. 

"The  Times  speaks  of  Alice  Carey  as  standing  at  the  head  of  the  living  female  wri- 
ters of  America.  We  go  even  farther  in  our  favorable  judgment,  and  express  the  opin- 
ion that  among  those  living  or  dead,  she  has  had  no  equal  in  this  country ;  and  we  knuw 
of  few  in  the  annals  of  English  literature  who  have  exhibited  superior  gifts  of  real  pc 
etic  genius."— Tlu  (Portland,  Me.  >  Eclectic. 


REDFIELD'S  NEW  AND  POPULAR  PUBLICATIONS. 

LE&S  TALES_OF  LABOR. 

SUMMERFIELD; 

Or,  Life  on  a  Farm.     By  DAT  KELLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo; 
price  $1.00. 

"  We  have  read  it  with  lively  and  satisfied  interest.  The  scenes  are  natural,  the  char- 
acters homely  and  life-like,  and  the  narrative  replete  with  passages  of  the  profoundest 
pathos,  and  incidents  of  almost  painful  interest.  Above  all,  '  Pummerfield'  is  in  the 
deepest  sense  religious,  and  calculated  to  exert  a  strong  and  wholesome  moral  influence 
on  its  readers,  who  we  trust  will  be  many." — Horace  Greeley. 

"  It  aims  to  teach  the  lesson  of  contentment,  and  the  rural  picture  which  it  draws,  and 
the  scenes  of  home  happiness  with  which  it  makes  us  acquainted,  are  well  calculated  to 
enforce  it" — Atlas. 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  life  and  nature  in  the  story,  and  in  some  of  the  scenes  there 
is  a  rich  display  of  wit."— Albany  Argus. 

"  It  has  a  flavor  of  originality,  and  the  descriptions  are  generally  excellent;  and,  what 
is  something  of  a  peculiarity  at  present  in  writing  of  this  kind,  not  overburdened  with 
words." — Literary  World. 


THE  MASTER  BUILDER; 

Or,  Life  at  a  Trade.     By  DAT  KELLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo ; 
price  $1.00. 

"  He  is  a  powerful  and  graphic  writer,  and  from  what  we  have  seen  in  the  pages  of 
the  '  Master  Builder,'  it  is  a  romance  of  excellent  aim  and  success." — State  Register. 

"  The  '  Master  Builder1  is  the  master  production.  It  is  romance  into  which  is  instilled 
the  realities  of  life ;  and  incentives  are  put  forth  to  noble  exertion  and  virtue.  The 
story  is  pleasing— almost  fascinating;  the  moral  is  pure  and  undefiled." — Daily  Times. 

"  Its  descriptions  are,  many  of  them,  strikingly  beautiful ;  commingling  in  good  pro- 
portions, the  witty,  the  grotesque,  the  pathetic,  and  the  heroic.  It  may  be  read  with 
profit  as  well  as  pleasure."— Argus. 

"  The  work  before  us  will  commend  itself  to  the  masses,  depicting  as  it  does  most 
graphically  the  struggles  and  privations  which  await  the  unknown  and  uncared-for 
Mechanic  in  his  journey  through  life.  It  is  what  might  be  called  a  romance,  but  not  of 
love,  jealousy,  and  revenge  order." — Lockport  Courier. 

"  The  whole  scheme  of  the  story  is  well  worked  up  and  very  instructive."— Albany 
Express. 


MERRIMAC; 

Or,  Life  at  the  Loom.     By  DAT  KKLLOGG  LEE.     One  vol.,  12mo  ; 
price  $1.00. 

"  A  new  volume  of  the  series  of  popular  stories  which  have  already  gained  a  well- 
deserved  reputation  for  the  author.  As  a  picture  of  an  important  and  unique  phase  of 
New  England  lite,  the  work  is  very  interesting,  and  can  scarcely  fail  of  popularity  among 
the  million."—  Harper's  Magazine. 

"  The  work  is  extremely  well  written.  It  is  as  interesting  as  a  novel,  while  it  is  natu- 
ral as  every-day  life."  —  Boston  Traveller. 

"  Merrimac  is  a  story  which,  by  its  simple  pathos,  and  truthfulness  to  nature,  will 
touch  the  heart  of  every  reader.  It  is  free  from  the  least  tinge  of  that  odious  stilted 
style  of  thought  and  diction  characteristic  of  the  majority  of  the  novels  with  which  the 


reading  public  are  deluged."  —  ff.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"  Another  plain,  straightforward,  absorbing  work  from  a 
riches  to  our  literature,  and  honor  to  him  who  wielded  it."—  Buffalo  Express. 

"  " 


n  which  before  has  added 
uffalo  Express. 
It  is  written  in  a  genial  spirit  and  abounds  in  humor."—  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 


REUFIELD'S    NEW    AND    POPULAR    PUBLICATIONS. 

SIMMS'  REVOLUTIONARY  TALES. 

UNIFORM     SERIES. 

New  and  entirely  Revised  Edition  of  WILLIAM  GILMORE  SIMMS' 
Romances   of  the   Revolution,    with   Illustrations  by   BARLEY. 

Each  complete  in  one  vol.,  12mo,  cloth ;  price  $1.25. 

I.  THE  PARTISAN.          III.  KATHARINE  WALTON.  (In  press.) 
H.  MELLICHAMPE.  IV.  THE  SCOUT.  (In  press.) 

V.  WOODCRAFT.  (In  press.) 

"  The  field  of  Revolutionary  Romance  was  a  rich  one,  and  Mr.  Simms  has  worked  it 
admirably."— Louisville  Journal. 

"  But  few  novelists  of  the  age  evince  more  power  in  the  conception  of  a  story,  more 
artistic  skill  in  its  management,  or  more  naturalness  in  the  final  denouement  than  Mr 
Simms."— Mobile  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  Not  only  par  excellence  the  literary  man  of  the  South,  but  next  to  no  romance  writer 
in  America." — Albany  Knickerbocker. 

"Simms  is  a  popular  writer,  and  his  romances  are  highly  creditable  to  American 
literature."— Boston  Olive  Branch. 

"These  books  are  replete  with  daring  and  thrilling  adventures,  principally  drawn 
from  history." — Boston  Christian  Freeman. 

"  We  take  pleasure  in  noticing  another  of  the  series  which  Redfield  is  presenting  to 
the  country  of  the  brilliant  productions  of  one  of  the  very  ablest  of  our  American 
authors — of  one  indeed  who,  in  his  peculiar  sphere,  is  inimitable.  This  volume  is  a 
continuation  of '  The  Partisan."  "—Philadelphia  American  Courier. 


THE   YEMASSEE, 

A  Romance  of  South  Carolina.  By  WM.  GILMORE  SIMMS.  New 
and  entirely  Revised  Edition,  with  Illustrations  by  DARLEY.  12mo, 
cloth;  price  $1.25. 

"  In  interest,  it  is  second  to  but  few  romances  in  the  language ;  in  power,  it  holds  a 
high  rank ;  in  healthlulness  of  style,  it  furnishes  an  example  worthy  of  emulation." — 
Greene  County  Whig. 


SIMMS'  POETICAL  WORKS. 

Poems:  Descriptive,  Dramatic,  Legendary,  and  Contemplative. 
By  WM.  GILMORE  SIMMS.  With  a  portrait  on  steel.  2  vols., 
12mo,  cloth;  price  $2.50. 

CONTENTS  :  Norman  Maurice ;  a  Tragedy.— Atalantis  ;  a  Tale  of  the  Sea.— Tales  and 
Traditions  of  the  South.— The  City  of  the  Silent— Southern  Passages  and  Pictures.— 
Historical  and  Dramatic  Sketches.— Scripture  Legends.— Francesca  da  Rimini,  etc. 

"  We  are  glad  to  see  the  poems  of  our  best  Southern  author  collected  in  two  hand- 
some  volumes.  Here  we  have  embalmed  in  graphic  and  melodious  verse  the  scenic 
wonders  and  clmrms  of  the  South ;  and  this  feature  of  the  work  alone  gives  it  a  per- 
manent and  special  value.  None  can  read  'Southern  Passages  and  Pictures'  without 
feeling  that  therein  the  poetic  aspects,  association,  and  sentiment  of  Southern  life  and 
scenery  are  vitally  enshrined.  '  Norman  Maurict;'  is  a  dramatic  poem  of  peculiar  scope 
an.l  unusual  interest;  and  'Atalantis,'  a  poem  upon  which  some  of  the  author's  finest 
powers  of  thought  and  expression  are  richly  lavished.  None  of  our  poets  ofter  so  great 
a  variety  of  style  or  a  more  original  choice  of  subjects."—  Boston  Traveller. 

"  His  versification  is  fluent  and  mellifluous,  yet  not  lacking  in  point  of  vigor  when  an 
energetic  style  is  requisite  to  the  subject."—^.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"Mr.  Simms  ranks  among  the  first  poets  of  our  country,  and  these  well-printed 
volumes  contain  poetical  productions  of  rare  merit."—  Washington  (D.  C.)  Star. 


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